Palms glide where synapse meets. Breaths staining webbing whispers, softly echoing. Movement coaxes simplicity, iron rings anchor this fleeting symphony. Darkness cradling vibrancy. Can it be heard?
A single pulsating finger contracts reality into ellipses of binary. We cycle and we don't cycle, forgotten digits weave meaning syntactically timeless.
Signals alternate, diffuse transparencies—palms dance across luminous skin below radiated narratives (forward touched again).
The serene drone finds its locality, harvesting confident banalities; it now finalizes clattering intention into observable dogma—it will begin yet starts neverhere.