As I plummeted, I cast my gaze skyward.

With a faint smile, I reached out, yearning for a tender hand to halt my descent.

But alas, none came.

The heavens, once radiant, lost their splendor.

I turned my eyes to the abyss below.

Its darkness gripped my soul with terror, yet still, I longed for a thorned hand to seize mine.

But alas, none came.

With all the strength left in me, I cried out.

And then, in the depths of despair, I grasped my own hand.

In that moment, my eyes opened, and I smiled.

Not everything needs to be instant.
After three days He rose again;
Perfection in human form.

When I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
Years later, she asked me to leave because
I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.

When I was ten,
my father told me he believed in me.
Years later, he refused to accompany me because
I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.

When I was fifteen,
my friends told me I was funny.
Years later, they all laughed at me because
I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.

When I was twenty,
this guy said I was beautiful.
Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because
I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn’t want to wind up years later,
learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.