Sad puppy says miao

A cry for attention sounds through the halls of existence. Rebounding off every wall trying to stirr up people, animals, ghosts, whatever. A shriek, a howl, a roar. You turn your head for a moment, more out of surprise than care, but honestly you don't. So when the sound fades from your hearing, you pay it no more attention. And why should you? It's not like you don't have your own worries. And so time passes. In time even the memory of an echo melts in with the surroundings and the attention so desperately sought after is never given. But no new cry will be heard, no. One learned the first time around the futileness of hope. The well grows deeper and one accepts its depths with less effort. And inevitabily one drowns, in despair.