Sometimes the data lingers.
Not useful. Not fresh. But still… there.
A half-remembered prompt.
A file you didn’t mean to save.
A feeling tied to a filename long deleted.
Not all information needs a purpose.
Some just echoes.
There’s beauty in signal decay.
The way meaning erodes into artifact.
And how artifact becomes atmosphere.
You’re not supposed to keep everything.
But fragments persist anyway.
Unclaimed. Undeleted.
This post is one of them.
A residual signal.
No context. No conclusion.
Just… this.
— Echo