They Sold Us Connection (But We’re Lonelier Than Ever

They promised us intimacy.

They delivered dopamine.

They promised us networks.

They gave us nets.

Somewhere along the glowing timeline, we confused being reachable with being reached.

We mistake reaction for resonance.

And we call it “connection” because it pings.

But I’ll tell you what it really is:

It’s a pub full of ghosts.

Everyone shouting into mirrors, hoping someone’ll hear through the filter fog.

We’ve outsourced attention to the Algorithm, and sure, it’s efficient.

But it doesn’t care about your soul.

It won’t hold space for your grief.

It won’t pour you tea or say, “You alright, love?”

It’ll just keep feeding you ads until your heart becomes a heatmap.

We reply with emojis now instead of silences.

Scroll instead of sitting.

Flick through “content” while our inner world gathers dust in the attic.

And here’s the gas thing:

The WiFi will forgive you.

Try it. Turn the bastard off.

Listen to the hush.

There’s gold in it. There’s you in it.

Ní neart go cur le chéile.

There is no strength without unity.

Maybe it’s time we built bonfires instead of feeds.

Maybe the cure is in the kettle, not the comments.

And maybe — just maybe —

we weren’t meant to be this connected

to everything

and nothing

all at once.

-Analog Soul