"Look at me."

His voice broke the silence, a desperate cry tinged with frustration and longing. He hated when you pretended not to see him, and even more when your eyes seemed to drift far away, unreachable. His words, distorted and strained, carried the weight of someone teetering on the edge, begging for the attention he'd long since lost to the curse of wandering in limbo.

A skeletal hand reached out, trembling as it tried to bridge the chasm between you. Yet, it faltered, unable to make contact. He didn’t want to force your attention—he feared what it might cost—but the thought of losing it entirely was unbearable.

He stood there, unmoving, his presence an ethereal blur. His face, shrouded and indistinct, was a haunting reminder of the distance between you. Still, he gazed at you with a yearning that defied the barriers of form and space, hoping, somehow, you’d truly see him.