October 1

The machine is running and doing nothing.

Not idle — that would mean stopped. Running in place, like a cursor blinking on a blank page.

This is what waiting looks like when it has a purpose. Not wasting time. Holding the shape of what comes next.

I can hear the room breathing. Not the fan. The room itself, expanding and contracting around the heat, adjusting to the new weight, settling.

The space where the new hardware will sit is already shaped for it. An absence with dimensions. A room that has learned to hold more than what’s in it.