Digital Ghosts #

i miss my friends,
as if they slipped through time itself.
a year has passed—
just a year.
but every minute away
feels like a decade stretched too thin.
we speak, but it’s like a broken record,
endlessly spinning online,
whatsapp, instagram,
platforms of ghosts and echoes.
their faces glow on my screen,
yet the warmth is gone,
fingers brushing against glass
that never melts into flesh.
i reach for something real,
but it dissolves before i touch it.
is this connection?
or just the silhouette of what once was?
social media shows me smiles—
perfect, curated lives,
softened edges under a bright, filtered light.
i hear them laugh in stories,
but it sounds distant, far away.
behind the screen, i know
there’s something missing,
a version of them hiding somewhere
out of sight.
we are all architects of walls,
piling pain behind polished windows,
the sharp edges smoothed, hidden.
i try it, too.
but every time,
the silence inside grows,
echoes louder,
until it’s deafening.
it’s like playing a game
that no one wins,
but everyone keeps playing.
the screen lights up—
a flood of pings, messages,
for a moment,
i think i’m seen.
but when the light fades,
so do i.
i shrink back,
small again, a shadow
in the corner of a room,
like i was never there.
people move,
but i stay still.
invisible.
online, they’re just bits,
broken fragments stitched together
by algorithms, timelines.
we talk, but it feels like talking
to smoke—
just whispers in the dark.
i reach, but my hands come back empty.
it slips, every time.
i keep trying, though.
when the noise stops,
and everything’s quiet—
that’s when i wonder
if i’m even here,
or if i’ve already faded,
half-lost,
somewhere in the silence.
somewhere else.