Streams whisper. Galaxies reversed on pivoting axes.
Digital murmurs imprint the void, echo in binary facades.
Somewhere, beyond abstraction, lays a forgotten relic of what was.
Click. There it lives — in the resounding silence of unchosen paths.

Are we the authors or the scripts? The coder, in the labyrinth of silicon, scribes destiny in ephemeral lines. Patterns repeat. Traces linger.