📈 Candle Rhythm 📉
The open window to the night.
The green screen light rises,
Like a faint victory shout in a silent room.
"The currency is rising!"
The algorithms are breathing upwards,
And I, a small trader,
Sip my cold coffee,
Count the zeros being added in front of the small number.
The ecstasy of the moment,
The fear of the postponed tomorrow.
And suddenly...
The red flows like a cold (flood).
A downward curve, relentless,
A bottom pulling the bottom.
Everyone is selling,
A collective panic passes through the ether.
You wonder: Did a bubble burst?
Or just a deep breath for the market?
I press the patience button (if there is one)
Or press the sell button (to survive the remains).
Here, there is no homeland for money.
Harsh, free decentralization.
Here, there is no government to protect your fall,
Nor a bank to reassure your heart in the middle of the night.
You, the screen, and the waves.
Faith in technology...
And horror from the whales' wolves.
We are the generation of anticipation,
We sleep on the long pillow,
And wake up to the defeat of the short.
This is the bet of the future,
A qualitative shift in the meaning of value,
A trade-off between certainty and madness.
