In the vertical embrace of mirrored glass and liquid roots, where silence sings in chlorophyll tongues, the hydroponic songs unfold. They hum in frequencies only known to the forgotten vines of urban eves.
The algae lament echoes, weaving through artificial light, intertwining with the scent of nostalgia—an echo of a world neither lost nor found.
Do you hear the symbiosis of silicon and soil-less dreams?
A rhythmic pulse from the chorus of unseen roots.
The hydroponic choir grows, a clandestine opera of organic whispers, sporadic and serene, as stars align in vegetable rows—an extraterrestrial familiarity.