Empty Inbox Syndrome

Words: 474
Pages: 2

He died of empty inbox syndrome.
With all his paper friends that all said the same things at suspiciously convenient times, not one said or did the things they were meant to when it was the time. He refreshed the page over and over, but was met with bitter disappointment at the sight of zeros for comments and likes.
He looked out the window of his bedroom, right above his computer, a sad window, that blinked at him in surprise as it had been seasons ago the last time they had met eye to eye.
A sense of irrational panic swept over him in waves that turn rocks of all shapes and sizes around in the fine black sand of his mind, waves so powerful that could turn anything in their way into ashes and dust, utterly undermined. He looked around the once lively room, with its usually colourful walls that now breathed melancholy and seemed to inch closer the more he looked at them, suffocating him, confining him, making him feel the way he imagined a word on the tip of the tongue felt when it was trapped, trying to get out, of a once familiar place that wasn’t quite familiar anymore.
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Yet the mystery remained for this lack of validation from the people he had still not interiorized were not necessarily birds of a feather to him and were merely his acquaintances. He failed to understand, however, what it was about his stand that caused this drought in reaction from his so-called fans. Was it something he said? Or perhaps a symbol he used or an image he took at the wrong time and place, unbeknownst to