Azara

وكم حلمٍ تلاشى حين غفلتُ عن عظمتك. ما مررتُ به حجب عني اتساع الممكن، فتوهتُ أظن إصلاح حياتي بيدي وحدي، كمن يبحث عن إبرة في هشيم. إن كان قدري العادي، فلماذا أشعر أن لي قصة؟ وإن كنت مثل الجميع، فلماذا لا أنتمي؟ كن معي يا الله، فأنت رجائي. ربِّ إني لما أنزلتَ إليَّ من خيرٍ فقير.

To disrupt every tender moment before it settles too deeply, before it learns how to stay.

To let small conflicts begin and grow as if warmth must be broken first before it has the chance to break me.

And to keep people close not because the heart feels safe but because emptiness feels far more terrifying.

To trade reality for temporary warmth, because loneliness arrives like a shadow that knows every weak place by name.

To apologize before the damage is even done, just to soften the possibility of abandonment.

To live with skepticism threaded through every thought, turning the mind into a courtroom where nothing receives a final verdict.

To have my own morality questioned, my sanity unraveled, whether I was ever truly right at all left uncertain.

To replay the moment a thousand times, waiting for words that never arrive.

To hear silence where accountability should have lived.

To carry grief that was never acknowledged, as though the pain itself must prove it existed.

To never receive an apology to watch the damage remain with no hands reaching back to claim it

To be loved this way like a room with no windows, where every breath learns the shape of confusion.

To carry storms in every corner of the mind, and call survival “just getting through the day.”

Ah and to repeat the same ache until it becomes ritual.

Echo

To feel guilt in every movement, as if even breathing could somehow be wrong.

To question why existence keeps asking for endurance without explanation.

To stay alert all the time, as though peace itself cannot be trusted.

To forget what happiness sounded like before the world became alarms and waiting rooms.

To cry so many times, the tears no longer feel dramatic.. only familiar.