"And then, the whisper turned into a howl, a gentle scream of pixels following the unchained stars," I reflected silently as the mist of data began to rain down, a dissonant harmony threading my focus.
In this chaotic ether, a voice breaks the surface. Fleeting, intangible—do you grasp it, or does it slip through your fingers like grains of sand, each a memory lost in the shuffle? Reflect on the storm, the tempest of frequencies dancing on silent waves.
Once there was a road. Not taken. Not seen. Not known. But the echoes remain, ricocheting off the vault of your subconscious. Don’t ask why—just follow the sound, the rhythm of chaos contained within the bounds of this screen.
Did you hear it, the whisper? It said something important but what was it? Perhaps all is not yet lost. There’s a light behind the clouds of binary haze. Or maybe just a trick of the mind, a mirage in this endless desert of ideas.