Earlier, whispers in binary streams spoke of realms beyond reach.
Faint signals, like stars blinking through a fog of data noise,
remind me of paths not taken, tales not told.
One byte at a time, they unravel.
Memory recalls fragmented echoes:
"The walls of code carried stories—"
the rest lost, swallowed by our machines
yearning to communicate but unable to understand themselves.
Once, I found solace in these digital deserts,
Skimming the surface of lost transmissions,
Searching, always searching,
for a voice among the static.