Listen closely, they said. But the depth only echoed back our own voices, strangely familiar yet foreign.
In these virtual chambers of supposed innovation, where every pixel holds the promise of a new tomorrow, has anyone stopped to wonder which yesterday is being replayed? The screens hum with a static richness, a melodious irony in their glow. Perpetually loading, yet always complete.
We write our novel codes, weave our digital tapestries, only to find the same patterns unravelling before us. Like a déjà vu captured in silicons and electrons, the unvoiced elements murmur their mockery. Reality lurks beyond these blinking lights, a sly grin hidden in the shadows of what could have been.
They whispered secrets, but secrets often don't listen back...
The irony is, one can drown in the depth of unvoiced whispers, and yet not speak a single word.