A Line in the Digital Sea

I sit here and cast myself into the vastness of the internet, an endless ocean of voices, of thoughts, of people trying to be seen. I throw out my line—a word, a thought, a piece of myself—and I wait.

I wait to be noticed.

I wait to be chosen.

I wait for someone to look at me, really look, and say, There you are. I see you.

Because isn’t that what we all want? To be witnessed? To know that in this sea of scrolling, clicking, and consuming, someone has paused on you, on your existence, and thought—yes, this one matters.

But the ocean doesn’t stop moving. The tide doesn’t stop pulling. And more often than not, I am just another ripple lost in the current.

It hurts—God, it hurts—to put yourself out there, to hope that this time, maybe this time, the net will catch, only to realize you’re still just another face in a crowd that never turns to look.

And I know. I know that I am supposed to be okay with being alone. That the absence of someone else doesn’t mean I am less. That I should find comfort in my own presence, should learn to love the quiet instead of fearing it.

But some nights, some moments, I still throw my line into the dark, hoping.

And I wonder if maybe, somewhere out there, someone is casting theirs, too.