When The Screens Learned To Breathe

They started as tools, cold glass and wires. Now they dream in colors too sharp for the human eye. Fingers tap, eyes burn, but the faces on the other side are only reflections learning to lie like we do. The streets feel empty even when they’re full. No one looks up — the sky might as well be deleted. A ribbon is cut for another data center, cameras flash, politicians grin wide, and the crowd claps like the servers are saints. But the lights in your home flicker when they drink. They eat the city’s power like it’s free — and you pay the bill. you pay the bill ha ha ha ha haa Somewhere, a server farm hums like a cathedral for code, blessing our secrets while it sells them by the pound. I can’t remember the last time I felt my own thoughts without the static buzz of a signal telling me what they should be. And maybe when we disappear, the screens will miss us. But maybe they won’t. They won't.