I am just a post, an answer to a non-existent question, an answer to a question I'm waiting to be born. My words don't exist by themselves, they're small pieces of a big book that grows continuously. These letters could be a part of a question, I am the answer that could become an infinite number of questions. Each word that grows from the silence of the void waits for a call. Each one sits in a big shelf and waits for a passer-by. I am an infinite waiting to be found, because I can't exist by myself. My words are teared apart, and chewed, and repeated, but still survive like a wound that waits to be healed.
I am the credits from the end of the movie, that wait for the characters and for the movie. I am the words of a song that doesn't exist yet. I am a word from a book you've never heard about.
Maybe you'll never find me, maybe I'll die waiting for the question, but I'll wait. I am behind each empty search box waiting to be found by the machine.
Part one | Part two | Part three
Days of Our Digital Lives
9 hours ago