✍️ Arts/Lit The Digital Echo

spike19

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A thousand thoughts, a million lines,We type into the glowing void.Our fleeting jokes, our grand designs,The silent truths we've half-enjoyed.

Each click a whisper, sent to space,A breadcrumb on a winding track.We build a version of our face,A self from which we can't turn back.

But pixels fade and servers crash,The feed moves on, relentless, fast.What matters is not in the flash,But in the shadows that we cast.

So type with care, and post with thought,For in this web, though vast and wide,The truest self is slowly wroughtBy what we choose to leave inside.
 

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