It doesn’t have to be a literal “Help me” in a pleading tone, or a sad heart wrenching story told in shaking voice.
A cry for help might come in the form of the loudest laugh in the group, the silliest joke in the conversation, or the brightest smile in the room.
It could have been a feeble attempt to join the chat, a strained happy face in the photograph, or the simple silence in the middle of a cheerful crowd.
Sometimes it’s merely a request for a hug, a blatant “I miss you” or a “Let’s hang out together” that fell on deaf ears.
And yet it could be as simple as a “Hey, what you’re doing?”
But more than often, a cry for help is lost in the drafts, unsent and deleted, forgotten along with the writer.
À la mort,
I hate it when I’m left to my own devices and my insecurities devour me from the inside.