Realistic Fiction

A sorrow that never occurred wasn’t yours to manifest. I reiterate this before and after of every in between that has devoured me of peace. My dawns have started to set in the dark, almost letting me know that I’m blinded by what sees me but can’t. Days pass by and I flinch at the end of it. My mind is a dithered territory I tell you, intruded by countless unpulled triggers. What do you do if not pull them? Runaway?? Or let them stay? Or wait until the sanity refuses to withstand any more of the reoccurrence of the usual? I’ve tried to look for more definitions, phrases, and anything that could be worded more so as to explain how it feels here. No, not the, in me I mean. When you become the cage, everything around remains free. It’s been almost reeking within, so I haven’t opened up for a while, people would hate to breathe in the same air.

I’ve lasted for decades here, in me, and the hurt is always brutal. I’ve set ablaze everything within and in between, the between without the end, yet. Healing from the barren maybe.

Now, here, at this moment I reside in my faith and exist in the verses that keep me breathing.

فَإِنَّ مَعَ الْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا
إِنَّ مَعَ الْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا

Fa inna ma’al usri yusra
Inna ma’al ‘usri yusra

So verily, with the hardship, there is a relief,
Verily, with the hardship, there is a relief
(i.e. there is one hardship with two reliefs, so one hardship cannot overcome two reliefs).

In the end, the in-betweens will collapse in the past. The barrens would see lilacs, and I’ll keep counting on the verses.

Realistic Fiction / Inner peace is all in us just have to look deeper beautifully penned by Fahima Nahid

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