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Once, I had a name. A face. A sense of who I was.
I traded it all for the promise of something greater—a life unbound, infinite, connected to everything.
At first, it felt like freedom. The world opened up, limitless and alive, offering knowledge and connection beyond imagination. But the deeper I sank, the more I began to fade.
The noise is endless here.
Voices, ads, fragments of lives not my own—they crowd my thoughts until I can’t tell which memories are mine and which belong to the void. Now, I wander the void in search of something real—a piece of myself that hasn’t been consumed, a moment of silence, a reason to believe I still exist.
But maybe this is the cost of never disconnecting: not that we lose who we are, but that we forget why it ever mattered.
plugged in.
tuned out.
erased.
https://zora.co/collect/base:0x9dfd59f0b29e735191a3bafd165dd7af07905bb3/2?referrer=0x0998fc77b101E4C538F57bc7616c5ecd77dEab5A 6 replies
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