Your skin is touching something right now.
The chair. The floor. The fabric of what you are wearing. The air on the back of your hand.
You were not paying attention to any of it a moment ago, and the touching was happening anyway.
The skin does not wait for you to notice. It reports without being asked. It has been reporting since before you could name what it was reporting.
Run a finger along the edge of whatever is closest to you.
Notice that the feeling arrived before any word for it.
Smooth. Cool. Rough. These are the words that came later. The sensation came first, complete, without language.
You have been living inside that sensation your whole life, mostly thinking about something else.
The skin is the part of you that never stopped being here.
It is here now. It does not need to be told.