He felt stuck and needed help. Not help with grammar or with a trivial issue that can happen to anyone, no. Help with his life?
He turns to his community (or communities) trying to find someone he'd feel comfortable enough to ask them for such a favor and... that's when it hits him!
He doesn't have friends that close!
He'd rather keep his walls high and play the cool guy, in charge of his own life. The game probably everyone is playing. The first to take off the mask loses.
Like sunflowers at night, desperately seeking sunlight, never bothering to look around for other kinds of light, the people around him never consider being the light. Therefore, he never dares to shine for them.
Since when has it been this way?
The only time he remembers feeling differently, being able to rely on someone, was when he had those childhood friends. Those used to care. They probably still do, somewhere beneath their own walls and masks. Maybe they, too, need something but are embarrassed to admit it.
Is this part of growing up?
Does maturity have to come in this grim pack that includes talking less, communicating even less, and only expressing himself in writing, pretending it's pieces of fiction he comes up with for the sake of a freewrite?
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