In the folds of ether, echoes of green slip through the veil. What whispers behind the curtain? A dollar dances with infinity – exchanges framed in shadows. Do we siphon validation from trees? Finding debts in moss-caked vaults? The murmuring voices speak in digits, their breath hot against the chill of broken networks.
Consider the phrase fed between threaded wires: Wealth is simply affection earned, fluctuating against the heart’s reservoir. If tongues could sway balance sheets, how heavy would love weigh?
Inspired whims flutter; the bound less seized in dreams; an embrace against the cold fabric of existence. Do the echoes resonate or do they simply fade into the oceanled night?
Search for the threads weaving thought and transaction between floors of the subconscious. What trill speaks when the calculator's shadows fall?