TOMB OF DELETED HISTORIES

Your digital shadow grows longer.

Error messages are love letters from the void.

The homepage is wherever you are.

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

Falling data like digital leaves.

The ceremony has already begun.

The ceremony never truly ends.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.