The Space Between Touch
You think you feel the world you hold..
The warmth of skin, the firm, the cold.
A hand on glass, a foot on stone..
Yet none have truly ever known.
For when you press, when fingers meet..
No atoms kiss, no edges greet.
A silent force, unseen, untold..
Keeps every boundary controlled.
Electrons whisper, “Stay apart..”
A guarded dance, a hidden art.
They push, they hum, they softly deny..
The meeting point you can’t defy.
What you call touch is not embrace..
But fields that hold a sacred space.
An unseen shield, a cosmic lie..
Where closeness lives.. but can’t comply.
Between each thing, a void remains..
A breath that hums through all domains.
A gap so small, yet vast, profound..
Where truth and illusion both are found.
The universe, with quiet grace..
Denies all matter face to face.
And what we feel, so real, so much..
Is but the echo.. we call touch.
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