TWILIGHT THRESHOLD

A door slides open~  
not with sound, 
but with a feeling,  
as if the air itself has stepped aside.  

Shadows lengthen into questions,  
and the ordinary
tilts just enough  
to make the mind lean closer.  

Here, clocks forget their manners,  
logic loosens its collar,  
and a single choice can echo sideways  
into a world almost like ours~  
but not quite.  

Somewhere, a narrator watches,  
half-smile, half-warning,  
inviting me to cross the line  
between what was and what is.  

And for a moment,  
I stand in that thin, electric hush~  
the place where the present wavers,  
and the past asks,
What is a remote?

journeytimefree verse

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