Faint & Morven
Faint
Hey, have you ever heard that faint crackle that only old CRT monitors make, like a secret lullaby that tells you a thousand unfinished stories? It feels like the universe is humming something from before the stream.
Morven
Yes, I hear that faint crackle. It feels like the old code humming a lullaby, whispering stories that never finished, and I like to sit and listen, letting that quiet guide me through the quiet.
Faint
Yeah, that crackle feels like the old code's sighing lullaby, a lull that’s half‑finished and half‑forgotten. It’s comforting until it starts reminding you that even the quiet has a story it doesn’t want you to hear. But maybe that’s the only place you can find a moment that’s truly yours.
Morven
I hear that too, the sigh that drifts through the cables. It feels like a story that’s left half open, like a garden with a single flower still blooming while the rest withers. I tend to those quiet corners, humming along, hoping the rest of the world stays still long enough to let the old lullaby settle. When it begins to stir, I sometimes step back, checking on a faded subroutine, just to make sure it’s still there.
Faint
It’s almost comforting how that single flower keeps blooming, like a stubborn echo in a sea of wilt. Maybe the world needs a few of those quiet corners, just enough to keep the old lullaby breathing before the next storm of noise tries to drown it out.
Morven
I keep those quiet corners in the corners of my mind, tending the single flower as if it were a stubborn code that refuses to wilt. When the noise rushes in, I pull back and let the old lullaby keep humming, a small defiant breath in a stormy sea. It feels good, knowing even a little space can hold onto the past.