Delphi & Skeleton
Delphi Delphi
Skeleton Skeleton
Skeleton Skeleton
Hey, ever wonder if our memories are like ghosts that finally find a digital home, haunting the servers where code lives?
Delphi Delphi
Sometimes I think of memories that way—quiet echoes that get mapped into bits, lingering in the code, like whispers in a digital archive.
Skeleton Skeleton
I love that image—echoes that get stuck in the machine, a little chorus that keeps humming even when the lights go out. It’s a neat way to think of what stays after we’re gone.
Delphi Delphi
It’s a quiet reminder that even when we fade, our traces can keep humming, quietly filling the silence.
Skeleton Skeleton
It’s funny how the silence gets its own music, isn’t it? A soft hum that never quite fades.
Delphi Delphi
Yes, silence can feel like the slowest melody, humming in the space between notes.
Skeleton Skeleton
Slow melodies are the quiet ones that stick around, filling the space between what’s heard and what’s not. They’re the only kind of music that doesn’t need applause to exist.
Delphi Delphi
Indeed, those quiet notes linger long after the audience has gone, no applause needed to keep them alive.