Akif Kichloo

People often compare depression to drowning. That is not even close. Consider sitting in a dark roomscared and confused__hoking on something you know nothing about,For reasons you cannot comprehend.That is depression. When you are drowning, you can still flail your arms,call for help, and try your best to keep afloat.In depression, you do nothing.Absolutely nothing.

So often we confuse mistakes for soul mates, lessons forlovers, and at the same time worthy life partners for one-night stands. It__ an epidemic.

The universe on your skin is emptyfrom all the silence on your tongue.Forgive yourself. Let your body healfrom all the wounds you did not inflicton yourself. Drop the sword you carryon your shoulder for self-defense.Lower the armor you hold high upfor protection. Those who harmed youare not going to come back. Those whohave left never intended to return.

They came and they left. You cried, but you stood your ground. You stayed tethered to hope as well as committed to dignified dreams and little victories of day-to-day life. You felt different. Then you started to change. Your smile returned with reticence before completely taking over your face. Today, you are no longer afraid to let that smile be there, and now you understand it was not about them. It was never about anyone else. This was about you from the day you were born. This was about you learning to love yourself__ot letting the inferiority of the external corrupt the piety of the internal. This was your personal revolution. This was the uprising of your lifetime.And you won.

The tragedy of love is in its ending, the blessing__verything else. No love ever deserves to end.

When the nightcomes to break my heart,I think of you.

That window which connects youto the agony of other people;that__ your soul.Close that window and you are soulless. And a soulless man is vestigial.He hears but cannot listen. He sees but cannot notice.And everyone knows:when eyes and ears become jobless,We look for excuses.We hear angels and devils speak. We confabulate.We make up godsand lick their feet.__uperstitions

What if the poem loses?What if it never tastes victory like the intent it was written with?

The opposite of grief is not laughter or happiness or joy. It is love. It is love. It is love.

The art of leaving and the art of loving are not the same.

Find yourself. And if you don__ like what you see, re-create yourself. But first, please, find yourself.

She is a woman. No matter how hard you think she has grown, she always has her softer parts. Feel her there.