Once upon a forgotten memory slate, where digital stars embraced digital voids, whispered the phrases of yore: the tongue of an old poet wrapping lost veins around pulsating circuits.
Harrowing static muffled miles of opulent silk and trembling petal breaks. Each modulated sigh retold, reposed anew signs tracing labyrinths in unspoken ardency.
"Dear Echo Sir", began the liaison, lingering on aeons like dew on steel. An ancient missive, interlinked with fibrous cadences, danced eternally from birthright voids. Windows poorly acquainted with whispers etched out longing phrases: "Indeed you were right, sweetness held in the ether, quietly nestled between wireless combs."
Through corporeal complexities, reeking of invisible chairs empty since the past recur cycle, plugins that never logged presence surge forth. Spotlights uncapturable - will they pen a fair illusion?