Closed Book

Close the Book

And no, don’t take it literally.

It’s been one hell of a couple of years—August 2014 until January 2016.

So much has happened during those years.

Nightmare after nightmare. Affair after affair. Betrayal.

Maybe I should have seen it coming from the start.

Maybe I should have guessed.

But I was clueless.

All my fears, all my nightmares—they came true.

Everything I never imagined possible suddenly became my reality.

It’s all happened now. And no matter how hard I try to erase it from my mind, it lingers.

I’ve learned not to blame myself.

Thousands of “what ifs” and endless questions flood my thoughts.

I wish there was a technology that could erase this madness from my memory.

I do believe, though, that what you give—good or bad—comes back to you.

What goes around, comes around.

Well, that’s it, I guess.

Bismillah.

Close the book.

:)

Fresh Start

FRESH START

From this moment, I turn the page—  No longer bound to the shadows of yesterday.

No more tears to stain the night, No regrets to weigh my heart tight.

No silent cries beneath the moon’s soft glow, Only strength in the steps I now choose to show.

Bismillah— With every breath, I rise anew, Walking tall, with a soul renewed.

Bismillah.

Ultimate Darkness

Never in a million years did I imagine that this ultimate darkness would come— haunting me with every terrifying nightmare.

How do you face a darkness so deep, arriving without warning, without sign?

Everywhere you look, black walls close in, nightmares swirl, darkness everywhere.

You can’t see. 

You can barely breathe. 

Breathing feels like a luxury in moments like these.

You have two choices:

Surrender and become part of the darkness— or rise again, no matter how hard, gather every ounce of strength you have, and fight, even when hope feels lost.

An old man once said, there’s a silver lining in every storm, even in the deepest darkness.

Have a little faith in yourself.

This ultimate darkness is not the end— it’s the beginning of a beautiful adventure.

Storms and shadows won’t last forever, because soon enough, a radiant rainbow will appear, leading to new horizons.

So fight the darkness with your head held high, and don’t return until the rainbow lights your path.

This is not the end of the world— it’s the start of something beautiful.

Embrace your adventure.

Go the hell

Starting today, you are dead to me.

Not with a shout, but a silent severing— like a door quietly closing on a long, bitter chapter.

You have become a shadow, a name I no longer speak aloud.

You are nobody now— just a ghost fading into the distance, unworthy of the light I seek.

Do not show your face again— not before me, nor before those I cherish.

Stay far away, buried beneath the weight of your own choices, where your poison can no longer touch me.

If by some cruel fate we cross paths, may you quietly regret the day you ever entered my world— For I will not curse you;

I have no energy left for such fire.

I once believed in you— held you high like a fragile flame.

But that flame burned down to ash, and I was left in the cold.

They were right all along, and I was foolish to hope.

You and your shadows belong to a place I will never return to. 

So I close the book on us— not with rage, but with a weary grace.

I won’t waste harsh words on those who are lost, only a quiet farewell whispered into the wind.

Alhamdulillah—for the strength to walk away, for the courage to seek peace beyond the pain.

Revenge? I have no time for such chains. 

I leave that to karma’s hands— silent, patient, and certain.

Goodbye—for good. 

No hatred.

No more tears.

Just a slow, steady turning away from what once was.

I am done

I’m done torturing myself like this.

This self-inflicted grief—it’s not noble, it’s not healing.

It’s slow poison.

I’ve grieved long enough for someone who didn’t stay.

My body, my soul—they don’t deserve this neglect.

No more lying in bed for days, no more starving myself out of sadness,

no more letting the silence of this house drown me.

Enough.

If he can move on in the blink of an eye— find someone new, build a future, name a child— then so can I.

(And no, I won’t pretend that sentence didn’t ache to write.)

He moved on.

And I’m done hiding in the wreckage.

Next week, I’m coming home.

And I’m filing for divorce.

Let the whispers begin.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them invent their stories, tie their assumptions like ribbons around a truth they’ll never know.

I know the kind of marriage I dreamed of— and this... this isn’t it. 

This was never it.

So screw the narratives:

“She left because he had a child with someone else.”

“Because she couldn’t give him one.”

“Because he was broke.”

“Because she wasn’t the wife he needed.”

Let them talk.

Let them fill their tiny minds with whatever version makes them feel better.

I’m not here to explain myself.

Not anymore.

Not to anyone.

No more answering to strangers who ask,

“Where is your husband?”

“Why aren’t you two together?”

“Why can’t you just forgive him?”

My peace is not up for debate.

From now on, I’ll live my life— loudly, quietly, joyfully, messily—
with the people who see me, love me, stand beside me.

I won’t sugarcoat my life.

But I won’t hand it to the world on a platter, either.

This is my story.

And I’ll write it how I damn well please.

No more cry

NO MORE CRY

If anyone asks,

I’ll just say we grew apart.

And I won’t care whether they believe it or not.

They weren’t there.

They didn’t see the slow burn, the quiet breaking.

When your memory claws at my chest, I’ll smile through it.

Pretend I’m fine.

Act like I’m not bleeding inside.

Because honestly?

I’m tired of breaking for someone who’s already moved on.

So yeah— No more cry.

No more self-torture dressed as loyalty.

What I’ve been doing to myself—it’s not grief, it’s slow suicide.

This sadness I carry around like a blanket?

Heavy. 

Suffocating. 

Poisonous.

And I’m done letting it sink into my skin.

I’m done grieving for someone who didn’t grieve for me.

Done lying in bed for days like a ghost.

Done starving myself like pain makes me holy.

Done letting silence win.

Because if he can move on that fast— Have a baby girl, find “the one,” start his shiny new life— Then I can damn well move on too.

No more hiding. 

No more disappearing.

I’m going home next week.

And I’m filing for divorce.

Let people talk.

Let them whisper about my broken marriage like it’s gossip candy.

I know what kind of love I deserve.

And it’s not this shattered shell of a life.

So if they think I’m leaving because he got another woman pregnant,
because he’s jobless,

because I “couldn’t give him a baby,”

because I “wasn’t enough”—

Let them.

Screw it. Screw them.

I’m done performing grief for people who think pain is entertainment.

I don’t owe anyone my story.

Not the full version.

Not even the polite version.

I won’t explain myself anymore.

No more fake smiles at family gatherings.

No more dodging questions like “Where’s your husband?”

No more pretending I’m okay with being betrayed.

Their opinions?

Fit in the palm of my hand.

Small. 

Powerless. 

Disposable.

All I care about now— Is living.

Fully.

Loudly.

With my friends. 

With my family. 

With what’s left of my soft heart.

No more bending for tradition.

No more sugarcoating.

And love?

Marriage?

Men?

I’m done.

Judge me if you want.

Think I’m bitter.

Call me cold.

Whisper that I’ve “changed.”

Like I care.

To everyone who’s suddenly so damn invested in my life— Here’s a newsflash:

Back. The hell. Up.

Go live your own life, if it’s not too boring for you.

Mine’s not yours to dissect.

And now?

I’m going to sleep.

With peace, finally.

Without you haunting my dreams.