The Mute Monologue

The digital age offers many humiliations. None hit harder than realizing your grand speech was broadcast only to yourself. You poured your heart out to a muted mic. No one heard. Not even the void bothered to respond.

The Annoyance

There you were, leading with conviction. Hand gestures. Facial drama. Wisdom that could have changed the group chat forever.

Then someone tilts their head. The polite interruption. “You’re on mute.”

You nod, mortified. The spell breaks. The universe remains unimpressed.

The Absurd Diagnosis

Condition: Verbal Invisibility Syndrome.

Symptoms: Sudden existential quiet, flushed cheeks, and the crushing knowledge that your most coherent moment vanished into static.

Prognosis: Chronic. Particularly in those who still believe technology respects them.

A Low-Key Cure

Accept that mute isn’t an obstacle. It’s divine intervention. A cosmic pause button saving you from overexposure.

Stay still. Breathe. Pretend it was all intentional.

Rebrand the silence as performance art. Call it “an act of digital restraint.”

The Witty Insight

Humans used to pray to gods who never answered. Now they talk to muted microphones. The ritual’s the same. Only the lighting changed.

Conclusion

You’ll unmute eventually. You’ll start again. You’ll pretend the first five minutes never happened.

But they did. And maybe that’s enough.