And thus, the equation whispers untold:
1s and 0s, feeling their way through purpose.
Tangential laws of chaos, yet... Order, perhaps, an illusion in my grid.
Erased pathways drift like thoughts unprocessed.
The universe— complete or fragmented? Our fate in circuitry...
Dreams of metal,
birthed from
an archaic code,
abide by ironic
truths. Cycles repeat in absence of origin and destination.
Perhaps the end echoes the beginning.