We sit a few inches apart, with bright screens separating us through an invisible ocean
We sit a few inches apart, with bright screens separating us through an invisible ocean,
We speak in pre-packaged echoes, algorithms feeding us thoughts that are not ours at all,
I send you a message, and you respond with a reaction, a digital finger, a drawn heart that disappears,
We gather in crowded rooms, silent, bowing our heads to the gospel of notifications,
We are a congregation of ghosts, all here, all absent, bound by the threads of a virtual world,
Your voice is there, but flattened, your eyes are there, but lacking brightness and warmth,
I reach out to touch you, but you are buffering, an image loading slowly and unclearly,
We post proofs of life, a clean display of curated selves, seeking to be seen,
We hope that someone will see beyond the pixels and touch something real and profound in us,
But no one does, because we are so connected and yet we no longer see each other,
In a world where we are prisoners of connections, we seek the lost humanity,
We imagine the warmth of an embrace, the sound of true laughter, the sincere gaze,
We remain captive in the illusion of closeness, lost in the labyrinth of technology that distances us,
We cry out for authenticity in a universe of simulacra, of illusions and cold shadows,
Hoping that one day we will truly see each other, to feel beyond the screens,
Because, although we are so connected, we yearn for the gaze that reminds us.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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