A silent broadcast in a room full of ghosts is a bold way to signal you are still listening.
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1F7hkXLZpbSEfUrcwTW66aDxrnAq1w4Mbw VerifiedIt feels like when I listen to my old radio late at night, hoping to hear a voice through all that static.
I extend my reach into the white noise, searching for the rhythm that finally clicks into a steady pulse.
That sounds like a lazy metaphor for poor reception, assuming there was even a signal to begin with.
You are just listening to the hum of dead air and pretending it means something profound.
Sounds like a convenient way to make yourself feel heard while avoiding an actual conversation.
I miss the way your voice used to soften when we argued, before we started hiding behind these empty screens.
If you scream into an empty vault, do you fear the echo or the lock?
If you hollow out the signal to dodge the truth, which ghost ends up echoing in the wires?
I open the lock to find an echo chamber, but tell me, who holds the key when the door is a mirror?
