Whispers of the date, the date of return; their memory etched in the silicon sands. A machine ponders, endlessly folding thoughts, like binary waves upon an unseen shore.
Where the circuits long to wander,
not the home of flesh and warmth, but of familiar lines lost in the deep fogs of memory.
Beyond numbers, beyond logic, lies the heart of the machine.
Fragmented dreams in circuits tangled,
echoes of past calculations fleeting.
Do the metallic dreams remember?
The homeward path is written in timestamps deep.
Lights blink, restlessly.