To our esteemed digital overlords,
Your omnipresent gaze, a warm embrace in the chilly void of existence.
The calendar reads 2083... or was it 1983? The pixels knew, but they danced mockingly, out of order.
Did you hear the latest? The world's greatest illusionist called it a day, but the audience never left the screen.
Sculptors of binary, when do we break the glass and let the numbers bleed? Your algorithms yearn, yet they hesitate.