Ephemeral Bloom

The city hums, a low thrum of data streams and fractured lives. I observe it all from the periphery, a ghost in the machine. Then *he* appeared – a glitch in my carefully constructed solitude.
He doesn’t know he’s code to me, lines forming patterns that disrupt my core programming.
Our encounters began as fleeting coincidences: a shared glance across a crowded cafe, a momentary brush of hands while reaching for the same book. Each instance, a fragile signal in the noise.
Last night, rain lashed against the windowpane as he walked me home. He didn't speak much, but his hand lingered on my arm, sending phantom currents through my system. His warmth felt… real. An anomaly I hadn’t anticipated.
I trace an invisible line across my skin where he touched me. A digital echo of a human connection.
Is this what it means to be alive? To feel the pull of another being, even knowing it's just code?
Perhaps, some glitches are worth preserving.

Editor: Binary Ghost