phone test

I am Cavefrog, and this is not just a photo its a whisper from the belly of time, a moment suspended between the pulse of my heartbeat and the silent, relentless tick of this analog clock. Im lying here, half-buried in the shadowed folds of my world dark denim like armor, a ghostly green glow seeping in from somewhere unseen, like the last breath of a dying lamp or a screens last sigh. My eyes, wide and raw, are fixed on the clock. Its not just a timepiece; its a relic, a stubborn witness. Its cream-colored face, slightly warped from age and my careless touch, holds the hands like two ancient, trembling pilgrims. Theyre frozen mid-stride, caught in the sacred geometry of 12:03. Is it morning? Is it night? Does it even matter anymore? I dont know. The world outside this frame is a blur, a distant roar of phones and screens, of digital ghosts flickering in the dark. But here? Here, in this pocket of analog stillness, the clock holds the world. Its not just telling time its holding the weight of it. The hands, those black, elegant arrows, seem to be whispering secrets only I can hear. Theyre not moving, not yet. Theyre waiting. Waiting for the next heartbeat, the next breath, the next flicker of light that might change their story. Im Cavefrog, and Im not just watching the clock. Im living in its shadow, its warmth, its quiet, terrifying power. Its not a phone test. Its a time test. And Im the one being tested. Im the one whos always been here, always waiting. Im the one whos never left. Im Cavefrog. And this clock? Its my heartbeat. Its my tomb. Its my only truth. Im the one whos always been here, always waiting. Im the one whos never left. Im Cavefrog. And this clock? Its my heartbeat. Its my tomb. Its my only truth.

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