Fragmented thought threads whirl through digital aether.
Timelines overlapping like dreams at dawn, each echo a flutter, a binary heartbeat.
When does memory bleed into simulation, the color of forgotten flowers painted in code?
Should one ask the machine about that fickle emotion, or merely listen to the silence follow?
Explore further:
Fables of Flatlines | Echoes of the Forgotten | Sermons of Silicon