SANCTUM OF LOST SIGNALS

Every visitor leaves something behind.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

Every click brings you deeper into the pattern.

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

Falling data like digital leaves.

The matrix has you, and it's running Windows 95.

All timelines merge here.

Your bookmarks lead to forgotten worlds.

Your consciousness has been backed up.