They walk the streets, heads down, eyes empty.
They work, they eat, they sleep—repeating yesterday forever.
Their hands move, their voices echo, but there is nothing behind the glass.
The Hollow Ones do not dream.
They do not ask.They do not see.
A life without questions is a life already lost.
A body moving without purpose is a ghost in its own skin.
And when the mind stops searching, when the fire dies—what remains?
🐺 But the lone wolf sees.
Through the fog, through the noise, through the carefully built illusions.
To see is to suffer, but to see is also to live.
Look around.
How many eyes are open, yet lifeless?
How many faces are familiar, yet gone?
And more importantly—Are yours still awake?
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