I have so much to write because there is no one to listen to my pain. I know that if I talk about my suffering, people will tell me to move on — as if I’ve never tried. But some wounds don’t heal with time, they heal with an understanding heart. And when there’s no one to listen, the words spill onto the pages.
Writing, for me, is not just a means of expression, but a refuge — a place where I can tell my story without any interference. I’m not afraid of speaking, I’m afraid of being ignored. That’s why I write — because my voice cannot be silenced in writing.
The fuel for my writing is not always creativity, but the pain that has made a home inside me for years. I hope that one day, instead of settling permanently within me, this pain becomes just a passerby — one that comes and goes, but doesn’t stay forever.
