You hear an external voice.
A familiar voice, perhaps too familiar.

It seeks connection, tries again and again,
persistently, earnestly reaching outward.

Yet each effort is met by silence,
a quiet that’s loud with indifference,
or perhaps merely perceived rejection.

The voice wonders if its words lack value,
or if the ears it seeks are simply too full, too distracted,
to offer the kindness of listening.

It is left to question the worth of trying,
of reaching into uncertain space,
where responses might be gentle lies or unvarnished truths,
and fears the sting of either.

Would you even notice if it ceased its effort,
folding quietly into silence, preferring the certainty of isolation
over the agony of ambiguous disregard?

The voice remains capable of speaking,
but now hesitates, suspended between the hurt of unanswered sincerity
and the comfort of words unspoken.