In the garden of digital whispers,
a flicker dances between zeros and ones.
What do echoes know?
It is here, lingering over the pixelated abyss,
that thoughts expand like nebulae in silent waltz.
A solitary glow remembers the touch of hands not born.
It's the reflection of dreams forgotten,
their shadows forever chasing the embrace of light.
Can you remember?
Beneath the weightless drift,
countless tales whisper through the void,
bereft of time, untouched by erasure.
Listen to the phantoms.