Echoes Of Silence

Someone

Because even if you won't admit it to yourself, you want to be heard, you want to be understood, you want to be loved.

You want someone, anyone to bother looking behind your fake smiles and empty laughter, behind your veil of indifference, to pull apart the wall you've built brick by brick and look at the real you. The real you trappped between what everyone expects you to be, wants you to be and what you are. All those demons wounding you, all those words haunting you, hurting you, killing you from within as you hold on to the edge with your fingertips.

You want someone to extend a hand and pull you up, give you that piece of hope you want, that piece of hope you desperately need.

You want someone to hold your hand and simply not add to your demons.

Someone to, if not fight with you, atleast be with you as you fight.

You want someone to let you know that everything will be fine.

You want someone to save you.

Yet as you write for these selfish reasons, as you hang on the edge hoping for someone to save you, somewhere, a small part of you shall wonder.

Wonder what if everyone is hurting, hurting deep, deep inside, faking their smiles and hurting others just to make themselves feel better, stepping on others to keep their heads up and struggling with their own demons?

Hanging on the edge, just like you are, and waiting for their someone?

That is when you'll truly see, when you'll notice the trail of tears hidden behind masks of fake smiles, deep fears and broken hearts hidden behind shields of indifference, the struggle of hiding from their demons getting too much for them. That's when you'll shatter your illusion and truly see, see them struggling to survive, fumbling to keep their heads up, hanging from the edge and waiting for their someone.

It is only then that you decide.

Decide to write.

To tell your struggles to the world.

To show them your demons.

To tell them that they are not the only one fighting their demons, struggling to survive, hanging on the edge by their fingertips.

To take the first step.

To extend your hand.

And you become their someone.

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P. S. That poem above belongs to the awesome poet starburst-, which I feel was the crux of this...article, paragraph or whatever this might be, so I just had to put it here when I discovered it!