The cursor flashes, waiting for a command.
Any command.
An editor window is open,
The fan does not hum, with nothing to cool.
The keyboard simply rests
As dust,
Illuminated by the stripes of sunlight
moving across the desk,
Settles between its idle keys.

It all taunts me
With the truth:

There is no map I can make,
No chart,
No graph,
No query,
No post nor comment;

There is no line of code I can write
To bring back the world as it was.