cross-posted from: https://reddthat.com/post/58496825 Source: Me

This is where the stories drift in on a weak carrier wave from the layer beside us, the one you keep mistaking for déjà vu. You catch pieces of it in the quiet parts of your day, like an old broadcast bleeding in under the static, familiar and completely out of place. A hallway is two steps longer than it should be, a stranger mouths your next words before you say them, a floor creaks where you swear there’s nothing. If you keep listening, really listening, you start to realize it’s not memory at all, it’s overlap.

Let’s begin: