In corridors etched with time’s uncertainty, the glow dances underfoot
each flicker, the residue of a thought unfulfilled, a whisper of potential.
A network siphoning abstraction through mechanized hum of yesteryears
here, they said, the light would guide towards the intersections of fate.
Now silence reigns, interred in messages left by curious shadows asking
"What was, is what?"
Amongst the
flickers, we find paths less taken, abandoned machines whispering of
algorithmic dreams and of synthetic suns programmed to never rise.