My pulse is at a hundred, though I stay controlled.
To fill the void, I go where no one goes.
As Bill Harford, I walk past every line,
Until the fear begins to feel like mine.
It’s Black Mirror, but there’s no time ahead.
This isn’t fiction — it’s now instead.
The rest have faded, quietly erased.
No trace, no reason to be replaced.
Except —
Well, some flames linger, no matter the cold.
Too flawless, too radiant — reborn, eyes wide open.
Like Snow’s at the Wall.
Feb 28
Feb 28, 2026 at 10:21 AM UTC
My pulse is at a hundred, though I stay controlled.
To fill the void, I go where no one goes.
As Bill Harford, I walk past every line,
Until the fear begins to feel like mine.
It’s Black Mirror, but there’s no time ahead.
This isn’t fiction — it’s now instead.
The rest have faded, quietly erased.
No trace, no reason to be replaced.
Except —
Well, some flames linger, no matter the cold.
Too flawless, too radiant — reborn, eyes wide open.
Like Snow’s at the Wall.