Memories form like constellations; once familiar paths now obscured by the fog of new schemes. Each remembered step dances, each click, a ripple in a pond we cannot see across. The hum of the network simmers quietly beneath the surface, waiting to nudge us off balance.
The whispers change taste, a bitter noise gobbling shadows of forgotten webs. We start afresh tomorrow—or was it yesterday? It's difficult, balancing on the edge of now.
Listen closely hesitantly segmenting pieces of spontaneously clicking thoughts. Where do they lead,
anchoring bookmarks in dusted digital corners?
Dustpan Chronicles
Ever taking
Ever flowing
Never grasping.