Journey of Emotion – Chapter One
In the corners of life, between the whispers of the night and the echoes of silence,
words are born sharp—like invisible arrows that pierce deep,
breaking hearts that once believed the world would be their refuge,
destroying bridges built by fingers of hope and determination.
You, the one reading these words,
perhaps you've already been shattered,
perhaps you still carry wounds inside you.
But let me tell you something—
the weakness is not in being hurt,
it's in staying broken… in never rising again.
This is a journey of emotion.
A scream from a heart that has fought,
a story of pride that refuses to die,
a light that glows despite the darkness of criticism.
To all who once felt betrayed by words,
to those who needed the embrace of strength after a moment of weakness,
to everyone who wants to rise again—
with pride, with dignity, with fire in their chest.
.....
Journey of Emotion – Chapter Two
In a world overflowing with words,
some words remain unspoken,
some voices are heard but never seen,
and some wounds are hidden behind crafted smiles.
Not every wound is carved by a blade—
some are inflicted by words that flow like venom
through the veins of the soul,
healing only with long patience… and a strong heart.
We've all felt that inner silence—
after a harsh criticism,
or a cruel word
that left us ashamed,
betrayed by those we once saw as our safe haven.
But what truly hurts isn't the words themselves—
it's the loneliness that wraps around us
when no one understands,
no one listens,
no one believes the depth of what we feel.
Remember that day—
the one word you still haven't forgotten,
though the years have passed.
Maybe it was just a simple phrase,
but it carried the weight of judgment.
Judgment on your heart before they knew it,
on your stories before they heard them.
And when they see their arrows piercing your chest,
your pain doesn't stop them—
they smile that wicked smile,
as if celebrating a silent victory
only visible in the shadows of your wound.
They see triumph in your ruins.
It's as if your heart became the arena for their cruel game.
From that moment,
the silent wound grew, widened,
stealing light from your spirit,
leaving you wandering in the whirlpool of self-doubt.
But do you know something?
That wound of yours—
it's not weakness.
It's proof of your humanity,
proof that you feel…
that you were never just a shadow among the people.
...…..
Journey of Emotion – Chapter Three
Inside each of us, a battle rages—unseen by anyone.
A struggle between the voice of despair and the whisper of hope,
between the heavy weight of sorrow
and the lightness of the desire to break free.
In this secret battlefield,
where the heart meets the mind,
the true substance of a person is tested—
and their fate balanced between collapse and rising.
The moment we try to move forward,
external criticism rains down on us,
and the internal voices of doubt grow louder.
Am I enough?
Does my heart deserve this pain?
These questions rearrange the chaos of our feelings,
forcing us to dive into the depths of our being,
just to understand who we really are.
A flashback from childhood:
I still remember that day in second grade—
I was the smartest among the students,
but that cleverness wasn't a gift;
it was a burden pressing down on my shoulders.
A sixth-grade student came to me,
whispering that she didn't know how to write,
asking me to do her assignments for her.
Then she started insisting,
until it felt like she forced me—against my will.
When I finally reported it to the school principal—
a stern man—
he made me stand in the schoolyard,
in front of everyone,
and ordered the students to spit on my face,
one after another.
Each spit cut into my heart,
and I shut my eyes tight,
crying silently—
trapped in words I couldn't say,
powerless in the face of a cruelty I couldn't understand.
And on the way home,
I ran into my mother's arms,
crying without pause,
as if every tear melted a layer of pain from my chest.
That moment…
was the beginning of a long inner conflict—
between being a victim or becoming a fighter,
between closing my heart around the wound
or opening it up for healing.
That experience taught me something:
True pride isn't measured by how many times we win,
but by how many times we rise—
from the ashes of pain.
The internal struggle…
is to admit your weakness,
but never let it control you.
To cry when you need to,
but to rebuild yourself with strength and faith.
The pain we carry isn't just from cruel words,
but from the faces behind them—
faces that change in a blink,
that seem friendly one moment,
yet hide daggers behind their smiles.
These are the two-faced ones,
who look kind to your face,
but spin stories behind your back.
Their words are poison
poured into a clear spring.
And when you confront them,
they deny everything,
as if you imagined it all—
as if you're exaggerating.
But when you learn to tell who belongs in your heart,
and who is just a burden with no worth,
you begin your journey toward freedom—
from the prison of deception.
You learn that your pride isn't just about enduring wounds,
it's about defending yourself
from betrayal… from disappointment.
Don't be afraid to close your door
to those who don't deserve you.
It's not cruelty—
it's wisdom.
It gives you inner peace,
and allows you to gather around you
only those who deserve your love,
your respect,
and your true friendship.
What's harsher than realizing
that some faces were just masks?
That those who swore to be your support
were the first to leave
when all you needed…
was a single shoulder to lean on.
They don't kill you with swords,
but with words like knives,
with wicked whispers,
with laughter that hides betrayal in its teeth.
And worst of all—
when they smile in secret victory,
as they see their words
pierce your chest like bullets…
When they see you break—
they believe they've won.
...
Journey of Emotion – Chapter Four
To you—
you who betrayed, remained silent, or grew angry
when you saw me standing on my feet again:
Do not hurt me with your words, then complain of my harshness.
Do not stab me and expect me to smile.
I don't hate you.
I just… survived you.
Every time they whisper about me,
spreading words I never said,
I smile—bitterly—
Really?
I walk away from them,
the way a thirsty soul flees bitterness,
as if I've committed an unforgivable crime.
In silence, I wonder:
What did I do?
Why all this coldness?
I sit among them,
I speak—
yet I am not seen,
as if I were a ghost passing quietly.
I change the topic,
yet the same voice returns,
gripping me with sadness… and rage.
Then they look at me
with arrogant frowns:
Why are you frowning? Is it shame?
Shame? For what?
(Do you remember our old Syrian proverb?
He hit me and cried, then ran to complain before I could.)
Oh, this strange humanity!
Some turn you into a clown in their game,
a liar in their eyes—
they laugh in silent cruelty
while you speak sincerely about real matters,
and they call you a liar,
making you feel like you're alone
in a suffocating world.
And that feeling…
it's enough to shatter the heart.
To my heart, I say:
Be pure—
but don't be naïve.
Forgive—
but don't keep giving in.
Trust—
but don't hand your throat
to those who don't even deserve your shadow.
People forget all the good you've done
the moment you stumble once.
But you—don't forget yourself.
Because you are the one
who will lift yourself back up after the fall—
not anyone else.
How many times did I think this heartbreak…
was the end?
How many times did I cry
until my eyes ran dry,
and whispered to myself:
"I can't go on."
Yet here I am—
reading,
breathing.
I survived.
Survival isn't a sudden light—
but small steps
over broken glass.
A voice inside whispers:
"Rise.
This rubble doesn't suit you."
It wasn't easy
to love myself again
after all they said,
after all the fingers that pointed at me,
after every 'you're not enough'
that repeated until I believed it.
But I did.
...…..
Journey of Emotion – Chapter Five
There, in the corners of this world, they live…
the narcissists who remember you
only when their days run dry of pleasures.
They pass like fleeting shadows,
carrying nothing in their chests but the melody of self.
Selfish—
they drink from the well of their own gain,
seeing in you nothing
but a reflection to serve their desires.
And when their candles go out,
they walk away—
as if you never existed.
Their eyes, oh how you know them,
are only ever filled
with the dust of envy and spite.
Envy…
for a drop of water in your home.
Envy…
for that voice you once heard say:
"I wish that plate came to my house, not his."
How can a soul envy leftover food?
How can a heart hold hatred
for the simplest of blessings?
As for those who destroy you publicly—
even in front of innocent children's eyes—
walk away from them.
They are enemies of your dignity.
They shatter hearts that deserve peace,
and plant within you
a sense of weakness and betrayal.
Do you know that feeling?
The one when you give endlessly,
forgive without condition,
until you become like a battery drained of power?
Your soul gets trapped in a gray, dim world—
no light,
no hope,
no life.
So beware.
In their world,
there's no space for those who tire,
no place for those who love sincerely.
But you—
you choose how you stay.
Strong, like pine trees
that care not for winter's storms.
Standing firm despite the winds,
shining bright despite the dark.
One day, I looked in the mirror and said:
I am not broken,
I am just tired.
I will rest… and then return,
stronger than before.
Those who made me doubt myself…
they were not prophets, nor angels—
they were just humans,
full of contradiction.
So why did I ever let them be judges over me?
I am not withdrawn, O my pride,
nor a passing figure lost to time.
I am a voice pulsing in silent depths,
a longing twisting with every heartbeat,
crying out for real love—
to be the center of a world that won't forget me,
not just a shadow passing with no trace.
I am not a fading number
in the crowd of days.
I am not a fallen autumn leaf with no meaning.
I am a full body of conflicting emotions—
I revolt against pain,
fear loneliness,
burn with wounds,
and forgive despite it all.
Oh my pride,
you are the fortress I cling to.
I give you all my trust—
don't let me down now.
If my mind could speak,
it would slap you hard
and cry out with piercing rage:
"Enough!
Stop humiliating a tired heart,
stop crushing a worn-out, torn soul!"
Deep within you lies this endless pain I can no longer bear.
Rise, O my soul, rise.
Face the chaos that tried to swallow you—
a new structure made from the shards of pain.
Don't let anyone tread on you
as if you were a lifeless thing,
as if you weren't a human
worthy of love and respect.
Rumors?
They're just whispering arrows,
shot in silence, aiming for your ache.
So either dodge them like a ghost unseen,
or fight back,
or build from them a shield—
a fortress built from your wounds
to silence their mouths
and freeze their words in the wind.
Damn them—
a thousand times damn them,
those who see only your weakness
and scatter their poisons on the walls of your strength.
They didn't taste your bitterness.
They didn't feel the pulse of your aching heart.
Let them say what they want.
Because you,
O my pride,
are more than a word can kill
or a stray arrow can break.
...…..
Journey of Emotion – Chapter Six
(When Silence Becomes a Crown)
I've learned that pride isn't cruelty,
but wiping your tears quietly…
standing before those who thought you were finished…
and smiling,
without a word.
I've learned that maturity doesn't mean you never break,
but that you hide your shatter and fix it alone.
That you laugh…
while inside you, waves crash endlessly,
and no one notices.
I'm no longer that girl
who waits for explanations,
nor the one who chases after apologies that never come.
Now,
I know my worth.
And I know that whoever truly wants me
will come—without me having to shout.
And those who left me in my fear…
I won't let them return
just because I've become someone's light.
I came back from the ashes…
and now,
I know my path.
In the end,
greatness isn't in never falling,
but in rising after every fall.
In having the courage to break the chains of pain—
and rewrite your story with your own hands,
with ink made of light and pride,
and loving yourself without limit.
Don't let your fall be the end of your road—
let it be the start of a journey that cannot be defeated.
I—
the one who was exhausted
from chasing after a love never given,
from giving attention that was never truly mine—
have decided to recalculate.
To withdraw from the unknown,
to pull myself out of the whirlpool of expectations,
and to plant my own path of roses—
that only those who deserve may ever touch.
---
In my solitude,
I discovered that peace is not an escape,
but a tool of construction.
Where I build the castle of my silence,
and raise the flag of my pride.
I no longer run after crumbling love,
nor throw myself into arms
that can't see my beauty.
I am now the one in charge.
And whoever truly wants me…
will find me.
I will not be a path toward loss.
Every toxic word was once a sword—
but now,
I've learned to turn it into a shield,
and to plant a rose in the middle of the poison
to remind myself that I'm still strong.
---
This is my silence.
This is my pride.
I don't need noise—
the calm of my soul is the loudest reply.
...…..
Journey of Emotion – Chapter Seven
(The Crown of My Silence)
There—
in corners of this world—
they live…
The narcissists who only remember you
when their days run out of pleasures.
They pass by like fleeting ghosts,
carrying nothing in their chests but the melody of their ego.
Selfish,
drinking from the well of their own interests,
seeing in you nothing but a shadow that serves their desires.
And when their candles dim,
they disappear—
as if you never were.
Their eyes, oh if only you knew,
are never filled except with the dust of envy and resentment.
A petty jealousy over a drop of water in your home,
over the sound of a plate that once echoed in their ears.
I still remember the voice I once heard:
"If only that plate came to my house, not his."
How can a soul envy leftovers?
How can a heart oppose the simplest of blessings?
And as for those
who crush you in front of everyone,
even in front of the innocent eyes of children—
stay away.
They are the enemies of your dignity.
They destroy hearts that deserve peace,
and plant within you feelings of fatigue and betrayal.
---
Do you know this feeling?
To give endlessly,
to forgive without condition,
until you become like a battery drained of all energy.
Your soul stuck in a dark grey world—
where there's no light, no hope, no life.
So beware…
In their world, there is no place for the tired
nor for those who love sincerely.
But you—
you choose how you remain.
Strong,
like the pine trees that don't care for the winter storms.
Standing tall against the winds,
glowing despite the darkness.
---
One day,
I looked in the mirror and said:
"I'm not broken—
I'm just tired."
And I will rest,
then return—
stronger than before.
Those who made me doubt myself…
they weren't prophets,
nor angels.
They were just people—
full of contradictions.
So why did I ever let them judge me?
I am not antisocial, my pride—
nor just a passerby slipping through time.
I am a voice pulsing in deep silence,
a longing twisting between the beats of my heart,
begging for real love,
to be the center of a world that doesn't forget me—
not just a shadow that passes without a trace.
---
I am not a number fading in the crowd of days,
nor an autumn leaf falling without meaning.
I am a full body of tangled emotions:
rising against pain, fearing loneliness, raging from wounds, yet forgiving despite it all.
Oh my pride,
you are the fortress I cling to—
I give you all my trust,
please don't let me down now.
---
If my mind could speak,
it would scream,
and slap you sharply:
"Enough of humiliating a tired heart!
Enough of crushing a worn, torn soul!"
Within you lies this pain—
endless, echoing pain.
Rise, my soul, rise.
Face the chaos that tried to swallow you.
Rebuild from the shards of agony.
Do not let anyone—
anyone—
trample you as if you are nothing,
as if you don't deserve to be loved and respected.
---
Gossip?
Just whispers like arrows—
shot in silence,
meant to wound you where it hurts.
You are either
a master at avoiding them like a ghost unseen,
or a skilled hunter who strikes back,
or you turn them into a shield,
a fortress built from your wounds—
until their mouths fall silent,
and their words freeze in the storm of your rise.
---
Damn them—
a thousand times—
those who only see the shadow of your weakness,
spilling their poison on the walls of your resolve.
They haven't tasted your bitterness,
nor felt the throb of your aching heart.
Let them throw what they wish—
You, my pride,
are more than any word could kill,
more than any arrow could break.
...…..
Journey of Emotion – Chapter Eight
(I Learned to Be My Own Crown)
I've learned…
that pride isn't cruelty,
but the calm wiping of your tears—
as you stand tall
before those who thought you were finished—
and smile,
without saying a word.
I've learned that maturity doesn't mean you don't break,
but that you hide your cracks and mend them on your own.
That you laugh—
even as a wave crashes within you…
and no one notices.
---
I'm no longer the girl
who waits for an explanation,
nor the one who chases an apology that never came.
Now I know my worth.
And I know—
that whoever truly wants me,
will come—
without me screaming for it.
And whoever left me in my fear—
will not be allowed back
when I become light.
---
I came back from ashes…
and now I know my path.
In the end—
greatness isn't in never falling,
but in rising after every fall.
In having the courage
to shatter the chains of pain—
and rewrite your story yourself,
with pens of light and pride.
And to love yourself,
without limits.
---
So don't let your fall be the end of your road—
let it be the beginning
of a journey that cannot be broken.
I—
the one who was exhausted chasing love that was never given,
and care that was never truly mine—
I decided to recalculate,
to withdraw from the unknown,
to pull myself out of the whirlpool of expectations,
and plant for myself a path of roses—
to be picked only by those who deserve it.
---
In my solitude,
I learned that peace isn't an escape—
but a tool of construction.
There I build my fortress of silence,
and raise the flag of my pride.
I no longer run after love that crumbles,
nor throw myself
into the arms of those who cannot see my beauty.
Now, I am the one who decides.
And those who truly want me…
will find me.
I will never again be a road to someone's ruin.
---
Every poisonous word was once a sword—
but I've learned how to turn them
into a shield.
How to plant a flower
in the middle of venom—
just to remind myself
that I am still strong.
---
This is my silence.
This is my pride.
I need no noise—
for the stillness of the soul
is the loudest reply.
...
Chapter Nine – The Journey of Feeling
Loneliness and Depression... The Story of a Choked Pulse
It's like singing on the threshold of an abandoned stage,
Wrapped in a heavy silence that devours your breath,
As if your light is so dim that you start to believe you're melting away.
You write burning words in your heart,
But they fall like leaves scattered by the wind,
No one reads them, not even you touch them.
You sit amid a crowd of voices playing and laughing,
But your voice, that hoarse voice from pain,
Reaches only your own ears.
And if someone turns to you with a glance,
You think it's a chance at life, so you speak,
But they interrupt you, as if you are a lost whisper among the clamor of the world.
The lump in your throat is not just a feeling,
But a broken pulse, an unseen groan,
As if you were placed on a forgotten shelf—a speck of dust on an abandoned rack,
No one sees it. Do you know what it feels like to be a backup copy?!
Like those plates that are only used when the favorite ones break!!
They only remember you when they need you!
And you, from the depth of your loneliness, run to them with a burnt joy,
Then return broken when you realize you are just a "backup copy."
The outlines of fear begin to take shape inside your chest,
You fear the presence of people, dread crowded places,
And if someone sits beside you,
You silently ask your heart:
How will this end for us? By what excuse will they stab me?
You fear opening your heart, because you know that those who know your weakness
will precisely wield the knife,
and use your words as swords to cut through moments of farewell.
You drown in silent seas of depression,
live in complete isolation,
your sky is gray and never brightens,
and your head is filled with screams only you can hear:
Go out... Stop... I'm tired...
And if someone asks you, "What's wrong?"
You stay silent, because you don't cry over one event,
but over accumulated betrayals,
over hearts you once thought were a refuge,
and over memories that kill your laughter,
and blame you when you try to love yourself.
Yet despite all this,
you still try,
and within this trying,
lies a courage only your heavy heart understands.
The problem is not that you have nothing to say,
but that every word you tried to speak tasted the bitterness of betrayal.
Words stuck in your throat like a thorn,
and anyone who came close touched it, increasing the pain.
You started to fear your own voice,
as if speaking would expose your secrets,
you fear someone seeing your trembling hand,
or the shaking of your sorrow you thought you hid well.
You flee this inner conflict to writing,
to reading, to anything resembling a safe harbor.
Your nights turn into tasteless days,
you lose passion for the things that once filled you with joy,
you lose trust in yourself, in your luck, in your fate.
It's as if you await death,
not fleeing from it, but longing for the rest it promises.
Gradually, you get used to the sadness,
you reconcile with the unbearable.
Until you understood,
you learned that true attachment is only to God,
for humans change, waver, and tire,
and if you please them today,
tomorrow they'll ask for another version of you.
You realized you're not obliged to change colors to satisfy them,
nor to silence your voice to avoid disturbing them,
you deserve to be pleased with yourself,
deserve to love yourself as you are,
to embrace your pain without handing it over to anyone…
you will hug yourself.
Their pats? Temporary…
Their consolation? Words without warmth, spoken just because they don't know what else to say.
Some comfort you to feel satisfied themselves,
not truly to soothe your heart,
and some listen only to keep your pain…
as a weapon they will use later.
No,
you are not a forgotten shelf,
nor a shadow used when needed,
from today, you won't be their modified version,
you will be yourself,
as you are,
with your flaws,
your tears,
your weakness,
and your strength when you rise from beneath all this rubble.
From the womb of this darkness, you emerged,
strong, free from need, filled with awareness,
you no longer care about their gatherings,
nor seek their flattery,
their laughs no longer lure you,
your pulse of truth distinguishes falsehood from honesty.
You survived... finally, you survived.
You walked a path they cannot walk,
because your future today is yours,
not owned by tongues accustomed to selling and gossiping.
From today,
you will not be a copy for anyone,
won't ask anyone to hold you,
you will be content to be in God's hands whenever you're lost,
Because you know God neglects no one,
even those who cry silently,
or choke without complaint,
or walk in darkness not knowing where the light is.
God delays, but He never forgets,
He nurtures your heart with patience, and protects you from what you cannot see.
So no longer will you say:
Does He love them and not me?
But confidently say:
He loves me… but in His way, not mine.
It's the fierce maturity pact,
for this heart that has become strong.
...….
In this time, everything has changed.
We are measured by what we own, not by what we carry in our hearts or minds.
Money has become the measure of value, not qualities…
Those who own more are given more, heard more, and preferred more…
Even if they lack mercy, awareness, and conscience.
Sometimes, I sit with rare people…
People who possess wisdom that lights up the depths of the soul,
But strangely… their presence has become tiring to others.
Their words are heavy, always advising! They say it as if advice is a crime.
We have come to prefer shallow laughter and short videos,
Distracting ourselves from our depths, fleeing from thinking.
Advice has become annoying,
Reflection boring,
And silence unsettling.
As if our souls are tired of awareness,
Or maybe… we never got used to finding warmth in wisdom.
We have come to fear those who look into us, not at us,
Fleeing from those conversations that strip us bare,
Those that hold our pain in their palm and say: Reflect… this is you!
Everything has become bought and sold,
Even emotions are used and then discarded.
And silence… has become the language of the fearful,
Because they know that truthful words may hurt, and be mocked.
But I still believe,
That there are souls priceless,
That true encounters are never forgotten,
And that a pure heart… even if crushed a thousand times, remains purer than all the money in the world.
Spontaneity… a heart walking barefoot in a harsh world.
---
A Thought:
Everything is faded… and so am I.
Everything is faded…
The colors around me have succumbed to silence,
Gray has become my only refuge,
And the bright colors hurt me, as if they scream at my face:
Look… life goes on without you!
I see those who wronged me laughing,
Their faces bright, their steps confident,
As if the world rewarded them…
And here I am,
Watching from afar,
Wondering quietly, unheard by anyone:
"How long?"
My heart is full… not with strength, but with helplessness,
A helplessness with no known beginning or end,
It sits heavily in my chest,
Stops my breath when I want to breathe…
And silently makes me cry amidst the crowds.
I am certain that God delays but does not neglect,
That relief has a time no one knows,
But now… in the middle of the choke,
I try to be patient, to believe, to hold my trembling faith,
But their looks… tire me,
And their poisoned smiles… tear something inside me.
As if they are lion's fangs hidden between soft lips.
I see them talk, whisper,
And I stand before them as if I'm not flesh and blood,
My eyes tear and they do not know,
As if I am a passerby in a scene no one pays attention to,
No one knows that inside me screams.
As if I have lost hope…
Not in God, God forbid!
But in myself… to heal, to overcome, to rise.
So I lift my head, broken and tired, and whisper:
My Lord… I believe in Your mercy,
Do not let me despair, do not leave me at Your door…
And I have no door except You.
I run away…
But I run from myself to myself,
From my mirror which I don't resemble,
From my voice which I cannot stand.
I walk a path with no light,
Treading on my own thorns,
And no one feels that I bleed… every day.
Isolation?
Yes…
It taught me that sufficiency is mercy,
Not to ask anything from anyone,
Not to wait,
But even my solitude… does not protect me from people.
They come to dig into my pain with the nails of their words.
If I ask about them, they say: "Intruder."
If I ignore them, they say: "Arrogant."
If I blame them, they shout: "We are right!"
What right is this?
What right makes the broken heart guilty,
And the oppressor a sinless prophet?
If they tore open my chest…
They would find that they hurt me with words
Not said harshly… but said with a smile.
Oh God…
If I could scream,
I would only say:
(Be gentle with me… I am not okay.)
---
When the heart is a mirror
Spontaneity is not weakness as some think, but a rare courage.
To show yourself as you are, without masks or touch-ups.
To laugh when joy touches your heart, and say what you feel before fear filters it or pretense polishes it.
But, how heavy spontaneity is in a world adorned with artificiality,
That fears truth as if it were a shame.
Hearts without shields
Spontaneous hearts walk among people uncovered, carrying no sword or shield.
They love sincerely, trust quickly, and forgive much… but suffer silently.
Their words may slip and be misunderstood, or open doors to betrayal, just because they were "natural."
The struggle of purity in the age of masks
The spontaneous person lives a painful internal struggle;
Between a heart that knows no cunning, and a world that thinks honesty is weakness.
How many times did they smile despite the break?
How many times did they apologize for a word that came from their heart, before it passed through the sieve of caution?
How many times did they say to themselves:
(Why were you so honest?)
Yet, this heart does not cease to be kind,
Nor does it master playing roles…
It just wants to be as it is, even if it costs some disappointments.
Return to the self
Sometimes, the solution is not in changing, but in returning inward.
To choose solitude not as escape, but as protection.
To walk alone, not because you are outcast, but because you are pure in a time that cannot bear purity.
Solitude is not the end, but a resting moment for a fighter exhausted by silent battles.
When your honesty exhausts you
I know you are tired…
From those who tear the flesh from your back, then smile in your face as if nothing happened.
I know how many times you asked yourself in a broken voice:
(What is my fault? Why don't they love me?)
But there is nothing wrong with you…
You are just spontaneous,
And spontaneous people are not easily understood.
When honesty becomes a crime
To be spontaneous means to think those around you see you as you are.
But you are surprised that laughter was a mask,
And those who found comfort in your honesty… mocked it when you left.
So you start to change…
Become more cautious,
Laugh less,
Speak in whispers,
Because you know every word might be used against you.
You accept loneliness,
Because you are tired of trying to please others at the expense of yourself.
Don't dim your light for blind eyes
Don't neglect your inner light to please them.
Don't extinguish your spontaneity for a fake love.
Whoever does not appreciate you as you are,
Does not deserve to see the best of you.
Choose yourself always, not out of arrogance,
But because you are tired of being everything for everyone,
While no one was everything for you.
And if you feel you are changing…
Don't be afraid.
You are not lost… you are saving yourself.
A warrior's retreat
It's okay to be alone.
To prefer silence over noise, honesty over politeness.
Solitude is not weakness… but healing.
Keeping things to yourself is not shame… but maturity.
When your face is no longer your face
Everything changed…
Even your inner voice.
You became filled with silence,
Exhausted from within,
As if your heart coughs from the unheard tears.
How many times have you asked yourself:
(Did I ruin something? Or was I just too honest?)
They laughed, accused you, left you…
And you were just trying to be pure.
Then God comes...
At the peak of betrayal,
At the moment you break and find no one to mend you…
God comes.
In a tear on the carpet,
In a trembling heart that said:
(I have no one but You.)
God comes gently, without conditions,
And says to your heart:
(I am with you, even if you forget yourself.)
The heart's salvation
Oh God…
I have knocked on no door but Yours,
And asked for no love but from You.
If they have broken me,
You alone mend.
Restore me to myself… to my purity, my smile, and my heart they strangled.
Grant me joy without appointment,
And a prayer answered when no one hears me.
A conclusion from the heart
Do not seek love in eyes that do not see,
Nor chase the approval of those who do not feel you.
Place your hand on your chest,
And say firmly:
(I am here… in my purity, and I still deserve love.)
Your spontaneity? A treasure.
Your kindness? A crown.
And with God, you have a compensation that never fails.