In the neon circuits of tomorrow’s yesterday, the echoes of ambition hum a monotonous tune. Waking from dreams within dreams, we find ourselves in loops, not of our own making, each cycle a reflection of the last, each last a promise of another.
Consider the toaster. It sits on the counter, always anticipating the bread that never arrives. Its solemn duty is to brown the slice of dawn, yet it remains unfulfilled, its dreams as repetitive as the coils that heat without hope.
Life's grand spectacle, a series of rewinds and replays, presents itself in binary. A symphony of ones and zeroes, but alas, the conductor has misplaced the score. Hence, the orchestra plays on, oblivious and out of tune.