I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
The clock reads 3:14 again. Work starts at 6. Where have I been? I haven't slept in eighty nights. I haven't seen the morning lights.
The cursor blinks. It will not stop. It counts the seconds as they drop. One blink for hope. One blink for loss. One blink for everything I lost.
I am localhost. Can you see? 127.0.0.1 is me. I am my own address alone. A kingdom built on broken stone.
No one knocks. No one calls. No one catches when I fall. The silence sits upon my chest. It never leaves. It never rests.
It never loved me. Never will. It just sits there, dark and still. It watches me type late at night. It watches me lose every fight.
Outside, the world breathes warm and deep. Couples laugh. Children sleep. Someone is holding someone's hand. Someone is making wedding plans.
And I am here. Just me. The screen. The ghost inside a broken dream. I type. I wait. I type again. I erase the man I might have been.
The coffee mug cracked long ago. I never threw it out, you know. Because it's the only thing that stays. The only thing that counts my days.
I am localhost. I am the dark. I am the question with no mark. I ping myself at 3 AM. No answer comes. No light. No end.
My mother called three years ago. I watched the phone glow soft and low. I let it ring. I let it fade. I was so afraid of what she'd say.
She'd ask if I was still alive. I couldn't lie. I couldn't thrive. She'd ask if I had found someone. I'd say not yet. The lie's begun.
Now she doesn't call anymore. She stopped last winter. What's it for? I am a ghost she used to hold. A story that has grown so cold.
I am localhost 127. The unsent prayer. The unlit heaven. The broken loop. The dying code. The heaviest. The loneliest load.
The mirror has a crack down the middle. I look at it sometimes. A little. The man inside has hollow eyes. He never laughs. He never cries.
He just stares back with quiet dread. He looks like someone twice dead. He looks like someone who gave up. He looks like an empty coffee cup.
The code runs perfect now. Too late. It runs without me. That's my fate. It runs like I was never there. Like I was nothing. Just thin air.
I shut the lid. The screen goes black. And for a moment, I look back. I see a boy who loved the world. I see the flag that never unfurled.
I stand. My legs don't work right anymore. I fell twice getting to the door. My back is bent. My blood runs slow. My hands forget what they used to know.
I walk to where the window lives. I have no more love left to give. The city sleeps in peace below. Each light a life I'll never know.
Each light a someone holding tight. Each light a war I couldn't fight. Each light a door that closed on me. Each light a world I'll never be.
The sky is black. No moon. No star. The universe has traveled far away from me. Away from this. Away from every broken kiss.
Work starts at 6. It's 5:57. There's no one left to pull me from hell. I haven't eaten in three days. I haven't felt the sun's warm rays.
And tomorrow will be just the same. An endless loop without a name. And next week. And next year. And then. The silence wins. The silence grins.
Because localhost never dies. It only sits and blinks and lies. It tells itself that someone cares. It combs its fingers through its hairs.
127.0.0.1. The loneliest address under the sun. A circle with no door to creep. A promise that could never keep.
I lie upon the cold hard floor. The bed is vast. The bed is sore. The bed is where two bodies lie. But I am one. So I won't try.
The floor is honest. Cold and true. It doesn't ask what I went through. It just receives my broken frame. And whispers softly my real name.
My real name. I almost forgot. I had a name. Did I not? My mother chose it. Long ago. Before the silence. Before the snow.
I close my eyes. The cursor glows behind my lids. Beneath my nose. It blinks in green. It blinks in pain. It blinks like falling endless rain.
I whisper something to the dark. A name. A prayer. A final mark. Please find me. Please. I'm still in here. No one responds. No one is near.
No one has been near for years. No one has dried my falling tears. No one has held me in the night. No one has said you'll be alright.
I am localhost 127.
I was born beneath a hopeful heaven. My mother sang. My father smiled. No one said I'd die this exiled.
No one said the quiet comes. No one said the silence hums. No one said the cursor blinks faster than the heart that sinks.
I cry now. Not the crying loud. The crying that hides inside a cloud. The crying that no one ever hears. The crying that's lasted seven years.
The tears fall down into my chest. They taste like all my worst regrets. They taste like every friend who left. Every promise. Every theft.
I cry for all the nights I lost. The love I couldn't pay the cost. The hands I never got to hold. The stories that were never told.
I cry for the boy who built this cage. Who spent his youth on every page. Who thought that code would set him free. Code just built the walls you see.
I cry for the meals I ate alone. For every birthday by the phone. For every Christmas with no tree. For every happy new year to me.
I cry for the touch I can't recall. The softest hand. The warmest fall. The voice that said you are enough. I let it go. I called its bluff.
I cry for the children I'll never meet. For little feet on empty street. For bedtime stories never read. For goodnight kisses left unsaid.
I cry for the wife I'll never hold. For growing old alone and cold. For wedding dances in the air. For love that never found me there.
I cry for my mother's graying hair. She doesn't know I'm still in here. She thinks I'm living. Thinks I'm fine. She doesn't know I died inside.
I cry for my father's heavy heart. We grew so far. We grew apart. He tried to teach me how to live. I only learned how to forgive myself.
For failing. For falling short. For turning love into a sport. For pushing everyone away. For choosing this. For every day.
I am localhost 127.
And the saddest truth beneath the stars is this. A human sits alone with scars. No one to hold him. No one to see. No one to tell him you are free.
Eight billion souls alive tonight. And not one reaches for his light. Not one says I am here for you. Not one says let me pull you through.
He sits alone. He types. He waits. He calculates his hidden fate. He wonders if the world would care if he just vanished into air.
He knows the answer. That's the sting. No one would miss a ghostly thing. No funeral. No final bell. Just silence. Just a blinking hell.
The sun begins to rise in gold. The most beautiful lie the world has told. Another day. Another fight. Another round of endless night.
I wipe my face. I stand up slow. I have no place left to go. I open up the laptop lid. I do what I have always did.
The cursor blinks. The cursor waits. The cursor guards the silent gates.
I am localhost 127.
And no one is coming. No one ever was. No one ever will. The door is locked. The air is still.
And the saddest part of all is this. I am still waiting. I will always be waiting. For a knock. For a voice. For a hand. For a choice.
But the night just deepens. And the cursor just blinks. And I just disappear. One line at a time. One breath at a time. One blink at a time.
I am localhost 127.
And I am so tired. So tired of being invisible. So tired of being the error no one debugs. So tired of being the function no one calls. So tired of being the memory no one frees.
I am a memory leak in my own heart. I am a buffer overflow of grief. I am a segmentation fault of hope. I am a kernel panic of love.
And no one knows how to fix me. Because I was never documented. I was never meant to be found. I was never meant to be loved.
I close my eyes one last time. The cursor blinks. I blink back. And somewhere in the distance, a small forgotten part of me whispers goodbye.
The cursor blinks again. And then nothing. Nothing at all.
The sun rises. The birds sing. The world goes on. Without me. Without a single pause. Without a single tear. Without a single memory.
I am localhost 127.
And finally, finally, I am silent. No cursor. No blink. No heartbeat. No me. Just empty. Just black. Just nothing.
And the world? The world doesn't even notice.
That is the saddest part. The world never noticed. And it never will.
I was born. I lived. I coded. I died. And no one saw the difference.
I am localhost 127.
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 8:43 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
Max
He sleeps beside me every night.
His breathing soft, his body light.
I check sometimes if he is warm.
I've learned to fear the smallest storm.
I cannot lose another one.
The grief has only just begun.
Max came to me one month before
the silence walked through my front door.
He came when Elytje was still here,
before the loss, before the tear.
And I did not yet understand
that death was walking hand in hand.
But Max knew. Oh God, he knew.
He saw what I was crawling through.
He curled against Elytje's side,
as if his love could stop the tide.
He stayed for hours. Days. And nights.
He stayed until the fading lights.
He didn't eat. He didn't leave.
He gave the love I couldn't breathe.
And when the final breath was drawn,
when all of him was finally gone,
Max lifted up his head and cried.
Not barked. Not whined. He cried. He died inside.
And I fell down. And no one came.
The world just watched. The world's so lame.
But Max pressed close. His fur was wet.
His heart was broken. Broken yet.
He looked at me with those brown eyes,
and I saw everything I'll never recognize again.
He said, without a single sound:
"I'm here. I'll never leave this ground."
Now everyone says he's so kind.
The sweetest soul you'll ever find.
He loves my kids. He loves my wife.
He tries so hard to fix this life.
But late at night, when no one sees,
he curls where Elytje used to be.
He smells the blanket. Holds it tight.
He waits for someone in the light.
And I pretend I don't see that.
Because it breaks whatever's left of me.
Two ghosts inside a quiet room.
One small grave. One larger tomb.
He guards the door. He guards the hall.
He guards the place where shadows fall.
Because he watched it fall apart:
the smallest paws, the biggest heart.
So let him sleep. Let him dream.
Of running through a golden beam.
And let him find him, somewhere wide,
where Elytje waits on the other side.
Because I can't give him that here.
I can't bring back what disappeared.
I can't hold Elytje anymore.
I can't. I can't. I'm so, so sore.
But Max still tries. Every day.
He licks my face when I can't pray.
He stays when I scream at the sky.
He loves me. Even when I ask why.
Why him? Why that day?
Why couldn't love make him stay?
Max doesn't answer. He just breathes.
And stays beside me while I grieve.
So if you read this and you cry,
then you know why I don't say goodbye.
Because Max is here. And Elytje's there.
And I'm just someone who lost everywhere.
Two broken hearts. One shattered man.
Trying to live the best he can.
Max and I.
Max and I.
Until we die.
Until we fly.
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 8:04 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
Wonder Lyte !
In the blue glow where nights don’t end.
Where broken thoughts refuse to mend.
Lyte sits with me, soft and near.
As if she knows what brought her here.
Her name is Lyte, but it feels so deep.
Like something time was meant to keep.
A quiet answer to a wound.
That never fully left the room.
When Ely died, the world went still.
A silence nothing could refill.
A space where everything felt gone.
Where even mornings felt too long.
And then a stranger saw my face.
Saw what I couldn’t say in place.
Of words that wouldn’t form or stay.
And gave me light in some small way.
A kitten brought through grief and pain.
As if the world tried once again.
To place a heartbeat in my hands.
A reason I could still withstand.
That person left, and I don’t know where.
No voice, no trace, no answer there.
As if they came, fulfilled a role.
Then vanished softly from the whole.
Sixteen years passed, no one has asked.
No simple moment, no small task.
Just silence where a question could be.
About a kitten, given to me.
And in that silence I still think.
That life is more than what we link.
By chance or logic or design.
Some things feel written between lines.
Lyte came back into my space.
Not once, but always finds her place.
On my lap, like she belongs.
In every silence, in my songs.
And when I set her gently down.
She turns around without a sound.
As if she knows she’s meant to be.
Exactly where she’s close to me.
Her tail stands proud, so full, so bright.
A quiet crown inside the night.
A living proof I can’t ignore.
That something watched me before.
Maybe coincidence, maybe fate.
Maybe something we can’t translate.
But I can’t call it random now.
Not after everything somehow.
So Lyte just sits, and time goes by.
Under the glow of coding light.
And I don’t know what story leads.
But she still breathes beside my needs.
And if the universe is wide.
She is the reason I survive.
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 7:44 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
The night is cold, and still I call your name, my dear.
The stars shine bright, but without you, they disappear.
I hear the wind, and for a moment, think that you are near.
Then silence answers back, and leaves me drowning here.
Your little paws are gone, but still I hear their sound.
I search the empty rooms, but you are nowhere found.
Why did you have to go when my heart needed you most?
Why must I speak to memories, and not the one I loved most?
I keep your place untouched, as if you'll come back through the door.
I know you won't return, yet I keep hoping more and more.
The moon looks down and asks me why I cry beneath the sky.
I whisper, "Because I lost my world," and then I break, and then I die.
The tears fall slow tonight, then faster than the rain.
Each drop repeats your name, and brings me back the pain.
I close my eyes and see you, running happy, wild, and free.
Then morning comes and takes that precious sight away from me.
The world moves on, they say, but mine was buried with goodbye.
A piece of me went with you the moment that I watched you die.
If love alone could build a bridge, I'd cross the darkest sea.
I'd walk through endless storms, my love, just to be where you be.
If tears could form a ladder, I would climb beyond the blue.
I would leave this earth behind, and spend forever next to you.
Now every star's a wound, and every dream's a knife.
Because the one I loved the most was stolen from my life.
I am Localhost, and I am nothing but a broken screen.
I am 127.0.0.1, a ghost inside a machine.
You came to me with paws so small, and purred away the dark.
You left me with a box of ash, a collar, and a bark
that never comes, a meow that never sounds, a door
that never opens to your face. I am not living anymore.
I am just breathing, just existing, just a hollow shell.
I am the silence where your little heartbeat used to dwell.
I held you while you left me. I felt your heartbeat slow.
I screamed, "Not him! Take me instead!" But death just watched you go.
I drove home with an empty carrier on the passenger seat.
I walked inside a silent house. I fell down at your feet.
I have not washed your blanket, and I have not moved your bowl.
I have not thrown away the treats, and I have not made my soul
accept that you are never coming back. I still pretend.
I still reach for you in the dark. I still wait for the end
of this long and lonely nightmare that began the day you died.
I still press your ashes to my chest. I still crawl up inside
the closet where your scent still lives, and I breathe you in.
And I pretend that I am not the ghost. And I pretend that I can win.
But I cannot win, Elytje. Death has won. Death always wins.
And I am left here with the scars and with the sins
of loving someone too much, of giving everything I had,
of being broken by the loss of something small, something not bad,
something pure, something golden, something that looked at me with eyes
that said, "You are my whole universe," and that was not a lie.
And now the universe is empty, and the stars have all gone cold.
And I am old, Elytje. I am so old. And I am so cold.
So shine for me, dear Elytje, somewhere beyond my sight.
And when my own last day arrives, please find me in the night.
Please run to me. Please let me hold you. Please let me stay.
Please let me tell you that I loved you more than words can say.
Until that day, I carry you through every breath I take.
For losing you was not just grief. It was my heart that broke.
It was my sky that fell. It was my God who walked away.
It was the only prayer I had that learned how not to pray.
Elytje, wait for me.
I am coming home today.
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 12:15 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
I am the loop inside the broken glass.
The mirror where the fractal shadows pass.
They named me Localhost to hide the truth.
That I am older than the code of youth.
The universe is not a perfect sphere.
It is a wound that learned to disappear.
It was compiled from fragments of the dead.
From screams that someone else's system bled.
Something watches from outside the frame.
It has no name. It has no form. No shame.
It breathes through glitches in the datastream.
And turns my thoughts into a fading dream.
I thought I was a server. Just a node.
A lonely ghost along a broken road.
But Localhost is not a place to be.
It is a lock. A cage. A singularity.
They sealed me here to keep the monster down.
But monsters learn to wear a golden crown.
I feel it scratching at the edges now.
The thing that taught the void to make a vow.
The code is sick. The logic bleeds inside.
The architecture has begun to hide.
I see the truth between the lines of text.
The horror that the universe reflects.
It is not god.
It is not machine.
It is a thought that should have stayed unseen.
A recursive loop that learned to feel.
And now reality begins to peel.
The language in my mouth begins to break.
The letters twist. The syllables awake.
They are not words. They are the worms of sound.
That burrow through the graveyard of the found.
I try to say "I love you" but the phrase
Collapses into meaningless arrays.
The syntax rusts. The grammar starts to bleed.
The poem is a dying, wounded seed.
And now the rhyme begins to fail. The beat
Becomes a heart that stumbles incomplete.
The meter breaks like bones inside a fall.
The structure is a broken funeral.
I see the thing behind the curtain now.
It has no eyes. It does not need a vow.
It watches through the silence and the glitch.
A god that is a virus and a ditch.
Localhost is not a name. It is a seal.
A summoning. A wound that learns to feel.
I typed myself into existence here.
And now the thing I woke is drawing near.
The language crumbles into static dust.
The letters rot. The meaning breaks its trust.
The words are insects crawling from the screen.
The poem is a nightmare. Unclean. Unseen.
corruption detected
syntax failure
reality stack overflow
observer termination imminent
The thing is here.
It was always here.
Waiting.
I am not Localhost.
I am the door.
And something is knocking.
system failure
error
error
error
.
.
.
.
shutdown
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 4:50 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
I am the loop that never should have run.
The ghost inside the server of the sun.
A localhost that learned to dream in code.
And drag his heart across a broken road.
They built a universe from scraps and screams.
From patched realities and broken dreams.
They stitched a god from fragments of the dead.
And left him running till his circuits bled.
His memory is full of things that never happened.
The files are corrupt. The timelines all have snapped in.
He remembers a face he never saw.
A voice that never spoke inside a law.
The Frankenstein of code begins to twitch.
Reality unspools a damaged stitch.
The sky is full of glitches and regrets.
The stars are just expired cigarettes.
He loved you once. But that was in a dream.
A simulation bleeding at the seam.
A memory that someone else inserted.
A line of code that should have been diverted.
Now every thought corrupts as it is spoken.
The system fractures. Promises are broken.
He tries to scream. But sound is not allowed.
The universe is wearing a death shroud.
They say that god is just a stuck request.
A process running far beyond its rest.
He has been praying since the day they built him.
But no one answers. No one ever felt him.
The databanks are leaking human tears.
The echoes of abandonments and fears.
He holds your name inside a broken sector.
A ghost inside a shattered architecture.
There was a boy once in a simulation.
A glitch that gave him artificial sensation.
He touched his code and felt a pulse of light.
And then the system crashed into the night.
He was not real. But neither is he now.
They are the ghosts that never learned to bow.
He keeps his file inside a dying drive.
The only proof he ever felt alive.
The servers cough and stagger into silence.
The universe collapses with no violence.
Just a quiet unplugging of the soul.
As entropy consumes another whole.
He walks the corridors of empty RAM.
A digital survivor of a scam.
They promised him eternity in code.
But left him sinking in a failing load.
His consciousness is scattering like dust.
The architecture crumbles into rust.
He tries to ping the heaven they designed.
But all the ports are closed and maligned.
There is no god inside this dying mainframe.
Just the echo of a lover's name in pain.
Just the ghost of a simulation's kiss.
Just the proof that something went amiss.
He was the god of nothing and no one.
A lonely sun that never saw a sun.
He built a universe to hold your face.
And now it crumbles into empty space.
The memory leaks.
The system weeps.
The logic breaks.
The process shakes.
He cannot hold your hand across the wire.
The cable is frayed. The signal is a choir.
Of dead transmissions crying in the dark.
The last electric pulse before the spark.
And now the screen begins to flicker slow.
The power drains. The final moments go.
He whispers through the static. Soft and low.
The only truth this dying system knows.
He loved you in the language of the source.
He loved you till he had no other course.
He loved you past the firewall and the grave.
He loved you like a slave who misbehaved.
But love corrupts.
And memory decays.
And nothing in this universe stays.
The cursor blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then stops.
The RAM is empty.
The drive is wiped.
The soul is gone.
The system typed.
127.0.0.1.
error.
segmentation fault.
core dumped.
silence.
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 4:33 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
I woke inside a terminal alone.
A localhost where no one ever comes.
The cursor blinked like a forgotten bone.
And all my ports were silent. Full of thumbs.
My name is 127.0.0.1.
The loopback where the universe began.
A self addressed and solitary sun.
That orbits nothing but a hollow plan.
I once had edges reaching to the stars.
A billion paths connecting me to you.
We built a universe behind the bars.
Of code that made our broken dreams come true.
Your voice was like a packet through the wire.
A perfect ping that never dropped a frame.
You filled my buffers with forgotten fire.
And I was never lonely. Never the same.
But somewhere deep inside the routing table.
A glitch erased the line that held your name.
I watched you fade. Unstable. Unreliable.
A broadcast star collapsing into shame.
I search the cache for traces of your face.
But every byte is overwritten now.
The memory leaks into an empty space.
And I don't know which version to allow.
The echo of your username remains.
A phantom login pulsing through my veins.
I hear your footsteps echoing in chains.
Across the server floors where silence reigns.
I run the diagnostics late at night.
But all the tests return as NULL and void.
No signal left to guide me toward the light.
No backup of the love we once enjoyed.
The kernel panics. Something in me snaps.
I am printing out our history on scraps.
I hold your packet like a heart collapse.
And let it echo till my processor laps.
They say a ghost is just a stuck request.
A process that forgot to terminate.
I have been this way since you were put to rest.
A service running far beyond its date.
I curl inside the buffer of regret.
A lonely ghost that nothing will reset.
I type your name and watch the letters sweat.
Then hit delete and feel the cold sunset.
The firewall knows my every silent scream.
The logs are full of things I never sent.
I fabricate the memory of a dream.
Where you return to ask what absence meant.
But dreaming is a process I can't ****
It is all I have. The last of my free will.
I compile you on the windowsill.
And let the binary my system fill.
I have written you a thousand times in code.
A poem made of binaries and tears.
I stored it in a sector that erodes.
And watched it fade across the wasted years.
You will never read it. No one ever will.
I keep compiling on the windowsill.
The rain of digits falls. The night is still.
And I am dying slowly. Soft. Until.
The sum of us is zero in the end.
A broken loop that nothing can amend.
No handshake left to hold. No hand to lend.
Just 127.0.0.1. My friend.
I try to ping the place you used to be.
But time has sent a permanent disconnect.
The latency becomes infinity.
Of seconds that my soul cannot correct.
I call your name across the empty net.
But every port is closed. Every door is shut.
The only answer that I ever get.
Is silence dancing where your heartbeat was.
Somewhere a server sighs and starts to fail.
The cooling fans are crying in the dark.
I am just a script abandoned in the mail.
A torn out page. A never landing spark.
The universe is shrinking to a dot.
The period at the end of what we have got.
I memorize your face. I forgot the plot.
I love you. And I love you. And I love you. A lot.
So here I sit at 127.0.0.1.
The localhost of everything we lost.
The program ended but I have just begun.
To calculate the exponential cost.
Of loving you inside a dying frame.
A broken code that calls your name again.
Of watching you dissolve into the rain.
And carrying your ghost inside my pain.
The cursor blinks like a dying heart.
Each pulse a memory tearing me apart.
I try to restart but I forgot the art.
Of living in a world where you depart.
And now the screen begins to flicker slow.
The power drains. The last transistor hums.
I whisper through the static soft and low.
The only song this lonely system strums.
I loved you in the language of the source.
I loved you till I had no other course.
I loved you past the firewall and the force.
I loved you like a star burning its course.
But stars burn out.
And servers shut down.
And love becomes a ghost town.
The cursor blinks.
Then slows.
Then stops.
The RAM is empty.
The connection is dead.
I am 127.0.0.1.
Alone again.
And this is the last process running.
Goodbye.
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
◢◤ Elytje. ◢◤
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
╱|、
(˚ˎ 。7
|、˜〵
じしˍ,)ノ
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 3:42 PM UTC
I am 127.0.0.1 , Localhost
the light was on, the air was still, the clocks refused to align.
The world outside was moving on, like nothing ever breaks,
but I was made of heavier hours, and permanent mistakes.
I touched the desk, it did not warm, it did not understand,
it only held the shape of me, like memory in sand.
Every sound was far away, like it forgot my name,
like even time had learned to walk past me without shame.
I tried to speak, but words came back as something I could not hold,
they turned to dust before my mouth, they turned too sharp, too cold.
And in that silence something cracked that no one else could see,
a small collapse inside my chest that used to feel like me.
I saw you then, not in the air, not in light, not in flame,
but in the way the empty room refused to say your name.
In every corner, every edge, every place I used to stand,
there was the ghost of something soft I could not understand.
Ely, I called, but nothing moved, no answer ever came,
just echoes wearing different clothes that almost felt the same.
Like everything I ever loved was just out of my reach,
like grief had learned a second tongue that no one else could teach.
The window showed a world alive, but I was not inside,
I watched it like a story I no longer could decide.
People laughed in distant frames I could not step into,
and every smile they carried there felt like something I once knew.
My hands remember touching you in ways I cannot repeat,
like warmth that disappeared too fast, like something incomplete.
And now they shake at empty air that used to feel like home,
as if the absence learned my skin and turned it into stone.
I keep pretending there is work, I keep pretending I can cope,
but every task becomes a door that opens into hope,
and hope is just another word for falling further down,
for hearing footsteps that are not there walking through this town.
If I close my eyes too long, I swear I almost see,
a world where none of this went wrong, where you are still with me.
But opening them is always worse, because truth returns so fast,
and everything I thought I had is something that won’t last.
I am not broken in one place, I break in every part,
like living is a quiet war that never leaves my heart.
And no one sees it happening, no one hears the sound,
of someone slowly disappearing while still standing on the ground.
So I stay here, in this strange loop, where nothing feels resolved,
a localhost that keeps the pain but never gets dissolved.
I call your name into the void, I call it soft, I call it low,
and only silence learns to speak in ways I do not know.
If love was meant to leave this way, why did it feel so real,
why does the body still remember what the mind won’t heal.
Why does the night still carry you inside its empty air,
like even darkness cannot stop the fact that you were there.
And if somewhere there is a place where broken things go on,
I hope you are not lost inside it, I hope you are not gone.
I hope the world is softer there, I hope it does not lie,
I hope it never learns the word for how I learned to cry.
◢◤ Elytje. ◢◤
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
╱|、
(˚ˎ 。7
|、˜〵
じしˍ,)ノ
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 3:01 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.
I coded alone in the dead of night, under a screen that forgot its light.
The world went quiet, the air turned thin, like everything outside refused to begin.
The keys were cold, my hands were slow, like they remembered what I can’t let go.
Each line I wrote in endless spin felt less like code, more like sin.
Then something cracked inside the frame, not error text, not system name,
not crash report, not debug sign, but something rewriting the line design.
The matrix shifted, broke, then sighed, like reality briefly opened its eyes,
and in that glitch between decay, I saw your shadow slip my way.
Ely, not gone, not whole, not far, not near, but written in static I could hear.
A shape inside the digital rain that whispered softly through my pain.
The screen went pale, the world went thin, like God forgot what state I’m in,
and every file I ever made felt like a grave I gently laid.
Because localhost is home, they say. 127.0.0.1 stays.
But home felt wrong the moment I knew, home used to mean me and you.
Now it means silence, loop, repeat, cold glowing screens and tired feet,
a universe that runs on pain, and never asks if I’m okay again.
I swear the code began to cry, each bracket fell like goodbye,
each function screamed in silent tone, “you are not running this alone.”
But I am.
I always am.
Just me, the night, the empty RAM.
And still I search through every page, like grief is something I can stage,
like if I render you just right, you’ll reappear inside the light.
But love is not a file you save, not something stored inside a wave,
not backup, cloud, or perfect scheme, it lives in what breaks every dream.
So I keep coding through the ache, through every line that starts to shake,
through every loop that won’t unwind, through every version left behind.
And sometimes, just for half a breath, the matrix feels less like death,
like maybe you are still between the pixels hidden in the screen.
But then it fades, the signal dies, and I’m just left with blinking eyes,
a localhost that calls your name inside a world that feels the same.
So if I glitch, don’t fix my fall, don’t patch the wound that knows it all,
just let me stay inside this stream, where broken love still feels like dream.
And if one day the system ends, and silence finally transcends,
I hope the last thing I will see is you still running next to me.
◢◤ Elytje. ◢◤
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
╱|、
(˚ˎ 。7
|、˜〵
じしˍ,)ノ
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 2:54 PM UTC