She sat underneath the big shady tree on the top of the hill that overlooked the whole park.
Finishing off the famous and kind of overrated novel, The Fault In Our Stars she sat the book aside and took out her notebook.
Popping in her earpods in and playing her favorite playlist, her looked back at her notebook.
All the emotions she felt all these years, every single one of them written down in the pages. The notebook was a bit worn out but nevertheless it's the perfect representation of her.
Flipping through the pages, there were some pages that had smudged writing due to the tears that fell because of the hard times she had faced.
Was is hard enough for people to listen? Oh wait. I'm mute. I can't even talk. How can people stop and listen.
Can anyone hear me?
Why do I feel so alone? I didn't ask to be living this way but can't there be someone who would put up with my difficulty?
The silence that overshadows me makes people look at me as a burden. Should I just end all this?
No one can hear. I scream but nope. I still have no "voice".
Does a voice only needs to be something that is spoken from the mouth? Can't someone's voice be heard in a different way? No would be the answer. That's just what the whole typical pathetic society would say. Because you aren't normally perfect as they are.
I give up on finding my voice.