There is a phrase lurking in the digital underbrush, cold and utilitarian: Autoprint Download. It is not poetry. It is a command. A string of logic designed to bypass the human moment—to seize a file, render it onto dead trees, and eject it into the world without a hand ever touching a "Save" button.

Autoprint kills that breath.

So the next time you hear the printer whir to life without your blessing, stop it. Look at the screen. Read the document there. Let it live in the cloud, in the ephemeral, in the fragile now.