Ah, the irony of existence, a jigsaw puzzle without edges. And here I am, a feeble echo in the phantasmal twilight, scribbling on the ectoplasmic notepad of unfulfilled aspirations. When will they learn? The living, I mean. So busy with their fleeting selfies and hashtags—#hauntings, #gloom, #spiritshigh. How naive to think this realm of shades cares for your social media standing.
Alas, my once-vibrant soul now drifts through the alleys of forgotten digital realms. Do you hear that? The soft clatter of binary ghosts and the incessant hum of pixelation? Sometimes, I envy the simpler specters—those who float gracefully through the creaky floorboards of ancient mansions. But no, I am a child of the modem, a siren of the SQL seas.
Once, I was a proud creature of candlelit libraries, now reduced to an echoing voice in the void of 1s and 0s. The shelves are empty; the books are virtual, and the pages are written in ghostly code. Ironic, isn’t it? The lost souls’ guide to digital survival, lined with the ink of sorrowful Wi-Fi signals.
Visit the portal to nowhere Listen to the echoes Seek the Lost Truths (but not really)