I stopped writing until I forgot the way words are pronounced.
I do not know the reason for my stopping. Is it numbness, or am I only good at writing when I am sad?
I returned to my refuge because sadness is my guest in this period, and I think that its stay will be long.
It came after many preludes, unfortunately.
My thoughts have become scattered, and I do not know how I can complain upon my letters.
I feel very tired of myself, and of the heaviness of my thinking that has tired me out.
I see memories that passed, yet never truly passed.
I see delicate tears falling, and repeated bursts of laughter.
I see victories, small achievements, and surrenders one after another.
I see disappointments after disappointments.
And I see a suspicious kind of neglect in it.
I see slips that turned my tongue against me... I see passing thoughts that settled within me, wanting their eye to be attributed to me.
I see a strength that disappeared and was buried, so that I would wear the clothes of weakness that do not suit me at all.
All of this happened and passed, but I wish it had not passed in that way.
I see the worst version of myself becoming clearer.
It is not me.
I was reassured that all of that would pass.
But I wish it had not passed.
I wish I could go back now.
I do not want to go back,
but I want to erase that distorted version which, in truth, has vanished, yet is still stuck in the mind of the one who did not understand.
I want to go back to change the course of what happened,
to change all the events through the butterfly effect.
And I am certain that I possess enough strength to overcome, to live, and to change everything, to succeed, to arrive, and to continue on my own,
as a person who does not build the roof of her life waiting for others to save her. I am capable of being self-sufficient without anyone's presence.
But I do not want to overcome... It is a matter of decision. I am not willing to lose the intoxication of imagining your breath,
and to wake up from the drunkenness of the feeling of love... I do not want my heart to remain empty.
In the end, I find myself at the same point I was in.
In the end, I find no benefit in that.
In the end, I find myself alone.
In the end, I return to my origin and suffice myself with myself,
holding fast to the ropes of God, which will remain firm and Will not fade like the frail ropes of people.
Pain, strength, and sadness what a harmonious mixture, always mending and healing everything, only to create another person who is stronger.
I think that among the harsh trials we face in our lives is that our hearts become attached to what is not meant for us. Then I ask: why, O God, did You place this in my path and attach my heart to what is not mine? Then I realized afterward that, in truth, I had disobeyed God, and had I trusted God in my affairs, perhaps I would deserve what happened to me... God may compensate me, or He may not... But even though my state is harsh now, it will not be worse than my being living in illusion... I had been lonely and unfortunate from the beginning, and I did not realize this until what happened happened.
I never imagined that I would live as a woman with an amputated heart.
Her heart used to radiate love, and her ability to love was immense, full of passion and flowers... Her heart was wonderful.
But its energy was drained, and it gave everything it had until its strength collapsed, after she had housed within it someone who did not deserve it. It was once beating, vast with life,
but the poor thing died. It collided with reality, so it bled pain like blood. It cried a lot before its death... Its dignity was thrown flat onto the ground...
Its owner is a woman unlike any other. Her dreams were simple.
Her heart was amputated. There is nothing in its place but emptiness and darkness, a huge void, a tragedy, and a deep wound.
She does not feel. She has been struck by emotional numbness and is no longer capable of love. Her affection has run out.
They say a child of emotion does not live long, but how will she live without it, stripped of the ability to love
alone, sad, and burdened.
All roads lead to you.