Staring at the blank wall, showing no memories of security. No memories to trigger the thoughtful suggestion of love that was once given. I sit here now reminiscing over missed triggers, missed signs and missed opportunities to help the deepening regret of trusting the wrong people or passing chance of giving hope to the lost soul that is now buried under the forever torturing prison of life. Toxic friendship that turned to a guilt poll with sinking floats and impatient waiters frowning on thoughts that might just suggest a reason not to be a forever depressing substitute that is waiting for a chance that will never come. Even though you know this chance will never come. Even though you try to be noticed by the non-violent angles that enlighten the unlightable and give hope to the lost soul. That one lost soul. But I'm just getting ahead of myself. I mean, why think about things that will never come? Why think of the good? Infact, why think at all when no one is listening to your cry for help. Because no one is listening. No one.
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No one
Short Storywhy think about things that will never come? Why think of the good? Infact, why think at all when no one is listening to your cry for help. Because no one is listening. No one.
