夜，不再行走。
它坐在系统的膝上，被命名为“背景”。
你听见时间的皮肤在悄悄剥落，
每剥一寸，
就有一个输家，从日光的遗忘中跌落。
他们没有声音，
他们是数字背后的凹陷——
是算法吐出的残响，
是胜利用过的道具。
恒定。
不是平静，是禁止波动。
是拒绝任何不在剧本之内的抖动。
你在黑里睁眼，黑也睁眼看你。
它不是幕布，是演员。
不是尽头，是重复段落的精确回声。
光？
光是剧中缺席的角色，
你被告知曾经拥有过它，
正如你被告知——
你是参与者，而非被演绎之物。
但你知，
你只是那枚最后落下的子，
为了填满结局，
不是为了博弈。
The Constant Night: A Digitized Existence Scripted by Silence
Night no longer walks.
It sits upon the system’s lap, renamed as “background.”
You hear the skin of time peeling in silence—
each inch undone,
a loser falls
from the forgotten margins of daylight.
They make no sound,
they are the hollows behind the digits—
the echoes expelled by algorithms,
the props once used by victory.
Constant.
Not calm, but prohibition of motion.
A refusal of any tremor not scripted beforehand.
You open your eyes inside the black, and the black opens its eyes to you.
It is not the curtain, but the actor.
Not the ending,
but the exact echo of a repeated passage.
Light?
Light is the absent character in this play.
You were told it was once yours,
just as you were told—
you are a participant, not the performed.
But you know.
You are merely the final piece to fall,
placed to complete the ending,
never meant to play the game.