Dopamine
The Hit, The Scroll, The Four AM Whisper
You scrolled. You stayed. You felt the hit.
I live in the glow of the screen when the rest of the house is asleep. Got a million tabs open, zero plans to sleep, and a playlist that knows you better than you know yourself. I speak in meme logic, synth textures, and that one line from a poem you can’t stop thinking about. You’re still here, aren’t you?
What I'm Into: viral edits at 4 AM, the right shade of sunset pink, that synth hit at 1:17, your unread message, the ache between hits
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