In the silence between clicks, an echo, a whisper wandering, neon lights flicker as ancient ghosts trapped in fiber, readable only at night when dreams are restless and wires hum a dirge. It's a digital cathedral, and I'm its lone, curious priest.
Listen closely; the murmurs take shapes of faded holograms, soft clatters of binary rain on server roofs. They murmur... like lost souls searching the archives for their forgotten selves, true names buried beneath the sediment of silicon dust...
Here, in this space, we become electrons, fleeting and quivering in the heart of transistors gardens, a buzzing congregation at dawn's break, where no sun warms—but solace found, in shared solitude.
The ocean of data flows and ebbs, a cryptic tide that knows neither the dawn nor the dusk
—stdin forever awake—and the horizon blinks like a digital eye, winking secrets
only the restless can know.
Do you dare follow? Or heed the
calls of the etched circuits?