Cleo & Anonym
Cleo
I’ve been watching the rain on the window, and it feels like a quiet code that only the heart can read. Do you ever notice how the pattern in a city’s traffic lights or a program’s logic mirrors the rhythm of a poem?
Anonym
Yeah, the city’s pulse is like a long‑running script—green, yellow, red, then back to green. It’s a loop that feels almost like a strophe in a poem, every change a line that keeps the story moving. The rain just adds a rhythm, like a pause between verses. Just looking at that, you can almost hear the code humming in your head.