We open the virtual gates, yet they remain firmly shut. Digital barriers, the new iron bars. The phantom gates, perhaps, only swing wide in dreams.
"I remember, once, there was a door here," she said, staring at the blank wall where opportunities faded like mirages.
Some say the gates whisper, but no one listens anymore. Their voices? Just another echo in the corridors of What Might Have Been.
"What lies beyond?" A question asked by limbs long departed, reaching for what never was.
Take a step through the revolving door of irony, where every turn reveals nothing new yet feels achingly familiar.