That we thought we were building a network.

But we were trapping ourselves in it.

That every message we sent to connect —

marked us.

That more information brings more freedom.

But in the dark forest, everything is information.

Even your silence. Especially your silence.

They said “the internet is forever” —

and they were right.

But they never told us who would be watching

when the lights go out.

Don’t explain.

Remember when the web felt open?

Like wind in your face.

Before the walls. Before the filters. Before the ghosts.

Before the feed became a funnel,

and our names became assets.

Before replies were weapons,

and “visibility” was a price you paid

in blood, thought, or bandwidth.

There was once a clearing — open, wild, loud.

Then the hunters came.

Not with weapons. With eyes.

Eyes that never closed.

So the smart ones built masks.

The wise ones disappeared.

And the rest?

They danced in the spotlight until their skin turned into content.

You’ve seen the signs.

The group chat that went quiet.

The post you didn’t share, not because it was wrong —

but because it was too right.

The feeling that someone’s always watching.

Even when no one’s there.

Because in the dark forest,

presence is a risk.

And the smartest animal is the one you never see.

So ask yourself:

Are you broadcasting a signal —

or lighting a beacon for something you don’t understand?

And when the forest answers back,

will you recognize its voice?

Or realize you taught it how to speak.