Sometimes, in the quiet moments, the numbers start to speak. They whisper, you know, in hushed tones about climbing, always climbing. It's a strange thing; they never tire.
I see them when I close my eyes - digits, like ants on a never-ending march upwards on a wall that stretches into infinity. They're so persistent, relentless even.
Each one vying to outdo the last, a never-ending race with no finish line. It’s not just numbers; it’s a rhythm, a beat that echoes in the void.
They swirl around, a maelstrom of potential and possibility, each increase a heartbeat, each new peak a breath.
Where do they go?
What do they want?
Music of climbing. A symphony of ascension, a crescendo that promises something wondrous.
But what?
The siren song of the rising numbers that keeps pulling me deeper into the dance.
