In the grand theatre of the absurd, where shadows blend seamlessly with the shadows, silent screams are the loudest. Here in the dark, the ironic symphony of human existence plays its bittersweet melody, unnoticed by the spotlight of awareness.
The whispers of the wind tell tales of conformity, wrapped in a velvet cloak of individualism. "Be yourself," they say, as they lead you down the serpentine path of prescribed authenticity. Follow the truth they whisper, as the echoes laugh silently.
Yet, in this theatre, the stars appear only when the curtain rises. Until then, the audience remains lost in their popcorn dreams, sipping soda through a straw of existential dread. Sight unseen, they chant, as the dark stands witness.