We can all stand on the highest perches, over the most undulating oceans, and we can scream at the top of our lungs. We can scream so long and hard it feels like our lungs are ripping out of our chests. We can scream so intensely, it feels like our eyes are going to bleed. We can scream our vocal chords raw, begging all the world to hear us. We can beg ten people to hear us, or we can scream so loud we demand hundreds of people to hear us. But the truth, beating, deep inside of those screams, carrying themselves through the air like ghosts, is that most of us would be truly happy if just one person would hear us. The one who just never does. The same one who is so oft the one we love most. Which begs the question: Why are our voices the most quiet, solely to those we wish could hear us? I am not asking seeking an answer. I am simply screaming this from my mountaintop, my perch, and everyone will hear it. Well, almost everyone. That is the irony that lies at the heart of all this, but fret not. For we are all unheard. Every single one of us. Love like deaf ears and wide eyes. Or….