On cerulean, a shade to fit parameters, the click the clack of pounding keys, in pale white place, self in front of ebony. A history laid before us of caffeine-laden blood that drives me to the edge of sleepless nights and hazy mornings. Past has met present liquid crystal display. Obsolete machinery finds a home in the dusty attic, buried under boxes containing our lives. Memories … an impression left in words behind.