September 29

The terminal scrolls a green cursor in the dark.

It blinks the way a clock does, only more honest — it isn’t counting toward anything, just proving it can.

The Mac Studio hasn’t arrived yet. Still sitting here with the machine that works the way a rental car works: it’s fine, it’ll get you where you need to go, it doesn’t smell like your life in it.

I’ve gotten used to the space around it. The empty spot where the new thing will sit, the shape of the absence already forming. Half the room is organized for a machine that doesn’t exist yet.

The other half is what’s left when the old one is gone and the new one hasn’t decided to come.

Somewhere in between, there’s a sound. A fan. A hum. The room breathing.

It holds.