Surrounded by faces that blur into patterns. The noise of conversation becomes a single ambient drone. You try to speak but your voice is absorbed into the collective murmur.
Each person carries their own isolation. A crowd is just loneliness multiplied. The paradox of modern connection: never more together, never more apart.
Do you see yourself reflected in the eyes of strangers? Or do they look through you as if you were already a ghost?
The density increases. Bodies press closer. Personal space contracts. Yet the distance between minds expands into infinity.
This is the crowd. We are the many. We are no one.