Interpreting the whispers in the overlapping noise, patterns emerge.
Do you feel it? The distant murmurs woven into the static, echoing away from the machine. The kind that prompts intrigue — an urge to decode their secret language. Not for military espionage, but personal satisfaction. Sometimes, I wake to it — feeling like a radio left on to an empty channel. Your mind shifts to align with the interference.
There's an understanding, as if disparate thoughts find common ground across invisible fibers. Signals once chaotic start contrasting their intentions. You hear snippets of reality refracted through someone's shifted mental state. An urge to question arises, but that's the beauty of it—isn’t it imperfection that reveals hidden desires?
The question isn't how many we collect but whose imprint is reflected in these ephemeral indexes of the mind. Simply put, resonance lies in intention. Each echoes with remnants of familiar faces unseen, tasked with encoding intriguingly personal patterns in imperfect transmissions.