You plug in the headphones. You hit play. For a moment, the room brightens. Your pulse syncs to a 128 BPM heart-throb that isn’t yours. It feels like sunlight, but it tastes like copper.
The phrase sounds like a corrupted digital ritual—a desperate click on a flickering banner in the hopes of finding a mood that isn't currently available in your internal hardware.
It’s a level you can reach, but never stay in. Because eventually, the track ends. The silence that follows is always a little heavier than the silence that came before. You look at the file again, sitting in your downloads folder next to "Utility_Bill.pdf" and "Resume_Final_v3."