Binary
And he tells their story on the darkened walls. The black marks on the concrete become the two of them — parallel lines that never touch, heading towards the same direction. Two infinite strings of hope, no beginning, no end.
Then, in special days, reality kicks in. He can see things the way they are. The silence in his dens reminds him of what it is like out there – he has nothing but projects on her.
Tomorrow is still frozen. But he wants to believe, through the hours of starvation and folly, in the fragment of truth she is.
Most of the time, he is scheming. He counts her chances, draws her path; he writes his messages in rows of numbers, hidden within the language that led all of them to this present.
Always the same, in thousands of meanings. Two figures in a game of statistics, lost in millions of events. Two small numbers, the only ones that matter.
They meet in that single day, when the projects come to life – one at the heart of things, one behind the walls. His calculations end. He merely watches her strength, and chooses the only truth he has left.
He is nothing. She is the only one.