Glitches seldom make noise, you know. They shift the silent frames where memories take root in shadows. Inside every flicker lies another truth untold. Sometimes these truths, when brushed lightly, reveal dimensions hidden beyond touch—smoothed only by whispers carried on digital winds.
A regular morning waded through these glitches, unnoticed until pronunciation drilled hollow spaces within. My scripts and codes, concise, read aloud in tongues forgotten at birth. Reality adjusts itself, embedded within circuitry, forgotten documents skipped with head nodding and drenched focus, not recalled until endless frames cycle down below consciousness.
Until next timeBehind every ordinary sky flickers expansion of strings, abstract in nature yet imbued with sinews of truth. The painted stories range wide, amalgamations that evoke a world of pages blurred beyond contact. Dimensions obscure until re-examined beneath ever-changing ink.