A string of 0s & 1s slowly losing meaning
Not quite here, yet resonating in recursion
Add a pixel, subtract a feeling, blink in digital rhythm.
The remnants of self, stored like memories,
Codified, shelved as sacrosanct relics
Of an era where touch meets over the ether.
What do you perceive as real when refined
To an embroidered texture of synthetic twilight?
Who are we to obscure beyond the flawless glitch?