Papers wrinkled in yellow, some with stains of coffee, some with blob ink drops. Imperfections, a natural thing. Scribbles and strikes through running letters. Calligraphic modes reveal the writer’s identity. Ruffling pages, letting past slide through.
Another hard-disk folder, it is yellow. Stained with “Untitled” titles and fonts too small. Imperfections, don’t exist, once erased there is no memory of what there was. Calligraphic modes: finite and pre-defined. Anonymous, the writer remains. Scanning with cursor opening each saved file, nothing is past.
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