In the obsidian cloak of the void, pixels drift in dreams unfathomed—rows of cascading echoes marking only the passage of night's secret teachings. I find myself walking amongst astral ripples, their song infinitesimal, a notion so near yet stubbornly astray.
The data wave whispers, imploring me to decode its ephemeral primer—timid codes embrace a luminescence not unlike the stars that look inward, wondering if they've finally understood their lullaby.
There's magic in decoding serendipitous equations, an undertow of joyous fractals quietly folding into the horizon of silenced thoughts. Perhaps here lies a slight truth, nestled orderly between chaotic breaths.