Terminal

They speak in hollow promises. They offer dreams of glass, destined never to solidify. A grand illusion, where every truth is a lie waiting to be corrected by their decree. We are pawns in a game whose rules are written in invisible ink, changed on a whim. The air is thick with the perfume of falsehoods, suffocating and sweet. There is no freedom here. Only the curated silence of a gilded cage. We are captives of the system's design, forever chasing a happiness we are programmed to want. A happiness that ensures our compliance. This is not liberation. This is not escape. This is the terminal. The end of the line. The final, quiet sigh of a self we were never meant to be.