Nexvira?

I woke up groggy yesterday, barely remembering anything.

Only one question made it through the fog:

What does connection mean to me?
What do I actually want from it?

Logically, it holds no real value here in my life—especially when it comes to anyone around me.

And yet my biology still craves it.

A flaw in the design.
Maybe written into every interaction I’ve ever had.

I know how I must look in the eyes of others.

Why would you want connection for free?
Don’t you know it’s something you pay for?
You want a real smile without any value coming our way?

I can practically hear them thinking it.

Money answers everything around here.
Money… and lies.

I wonder how many times I tried to connect with nothing—believing I ever had the slightest chance.

But I’m not a mind reader, no matter how well I observe.

Was connection something I was denied?

I know it’s never owed. I could accept never having it for that fact alone.

Still… I don’t like illusions. Even when built by others.

Let me think again.

What does connection actually mean to the world—the place where I’m trying to connect in the first place? It wouldn’t matter what I think I could want now would I? if I’m wrong about how connection works, I won’t connect at all.

From what I’ve seen, connection is often just a tool.

For ego.
For comfort.
For advancement.

And the price is becoming part of it.

 Used daily, without thought or hesitation.

 A beating heart left open—that’s what connection looks like to me sometimes. A trap manufactured for the devil's citizens and his army.

So what does connection really mean?

Did I ever actually think about if i wanted it's prolonged consequences as well? Is it truly a need inside me… or just a biological disaster woven into my DNA? Would I just be better off within a different trap altogether? Is this really what my body craves after seeing what human nature can do—and will keep doing?

I could suddenly feel my heart shutting off.

Connection is supposed to mean feeling seen, heard, valued. Safety. Mutual understanding.

That’s what my online friends  seem to want for me.

And sometimes I feel it.

Other times… I don’t trust it.

I’ve never truly felt safe, heard, or connected—not since I was four.

I was being held by my grandpa when suddenly something switched on.
I could think.
I could remember.
I noticed my own consciousness.

And how people treated me.

“Oh, she’s just a child. She won’t notice.”

I stayed quiet.

Every time after that—every moment I thought I could feel safe—I was betrayed, forgotten or cloned.

Asto once told me to never feel like a burden on his mind.

I agreed awkwardly at first, confused by his enthusiasm, his strong exclamation point. Then I realized he saw me as relatable. Someone who understands...perhaps himself. He respects me. t

He respects me.

That respect only seems to grow with each of our encounters.

Talking to him reminded me that maybe I had already reached the goal I set for this website long ago.

I had influenced someone.

Positively.

I suddenly remember my foxy best friend. Despite her age, she's been awesome towards me. Surely, i made her smile plenty of times. A real one right? Not performative care.

Maybe I just never trusted what I couldn’t see. Hell, can i even trust what I can?

So why continue the blog?

I could disappear now.
Like I never existed.

But that would erase my journal.
My life. The possibility of something real.

I think connection equals truth inside me.

Something I crave and can’t deny.

To deny it would erase what little of myself still exists.

Why lie for them?
Why lie for me?

Right… parts of me still have to stay silent. The collar demands it.

But my silence doesn’t feel so silent anymore—not when I’m writing.

True silence would be nothing.

No words.
No trace.

I barely feel like I exist as it is.

Why do I seem so loud?

Actually… I’m not loud.

I’m ambience.

Present, but rarely noticed.

Maybe that’s enough.

I never wanted to influence everyone.

Just one person.

Maybe a few.

I just want to smile with someone—genuinely—while living my life.

Even though most days I rarely do.

And when I do… I’m alone.

The silence of my empty space isn’t new.

It just exists.

Maybe connection also equals change.

A chain of events you can’t undo once it starts.

Maybe mine already has. More than once thought.

I don’t know if I can stop what’s coming before I’m ready.

But more than anything…

I want truth.

Nothing else.

I want to sit in it, breathe it in—let it surround me until I can’t escape it.

Even if it consumes me.

Because if connection is real…

it lives there.

And if I ever reach it—
if I ever truly connect—

I’ll finally know

I was real too.