Lights low. A figure sits on the edge of a bed, voice soft, breaking, like glass under pressure.

Support.
It’s just a seven-letter word, right?
But to me… it feels like a hundred.
Each letter soaked in the weight of all the times I needed comfort
and got correction instead.

You say you support me.
But scolding came first.
Nagging came first.
The yap-yap-yap before I could even breathe.

Sometimes… I don’t feel it at all.
Because your actions—
they don’t match your words.

You said, “I’m here.”
But you weren’t.
Not really.
You were there to judge.
There to lecture.
There to remind me of everything I wasn’t.

And maybe that’s the truth people don’t like to say out loud—
Parents don’t really know their children.
Not the real version.
Not the bleeding, breaking, buried parts.

You think you know me?
You think I just use my phone for nothing?
To waste time?
Because I’m lazy?
You said I have no dreams…
no goals to chase.

But did you know I applied for work—
and got rejected?
No.
You didn’t know.
Because you never asked.
You just assumed.

You just told me I’m picky with jobs I want.
You didn’t know the struggles I went through.
Didn’t see the nights I stayed up rewriting resumes.
Didn’t hear the silence after every “we regret to inform you.”
You blamed me for your suggestions when they failed.
Like it was my fault they didn’t work.
You blamed the outcome without seeing the effort.
You saw the tears—
but you didn’t ask why they were falling.

You think you know everything.
Well, you’re wrong.

Did you know I got bullied in school?
Yes, I told you—once.
And you said, “Just let them be.”
Let them bully me?
Really?
Is that what support looks like to you?

Did you know I cried myself to sleep most nights?
No.
Because I made sure to cry quietly.
Because every time I showed weakness,
I got blamed for it.

And now…
I have a heart that’s enlarged.
A real condition.
A heart that’s sick,
because I cried in silence for so long,
my body started breaking
before you even noticed I was hurting.

Support?
You say it’s love.
But love that hurts like this—
isn’t love.

So I’m asking—
no, begging:

Can you love your child without yapping, please?
Can you hug her…
just hug her…
without a sigh,
without complaints?

Because she’s tired.
Not just her body—
her soul is tired, too.

Seven letters.
But for me…
it still feels like a hundred.

Support is... doing it without hesitations. not with lots of words to say.

Cold, perhaps even

everything, you can endure --


with a companion.

You say your demons haunt you.
But I’ve stared into worse —
and they blinked first.

If yours would face me,
I’d burn them down with truth and fury,
one by one,
until your name was free.

But they don’t.

They wear your face.
Speak with your voice.
And you…
you still call them home.

So I wait.
Not because I’m weak —
but because this battle is not mine to win.
It’s yours to start.

But when you do?
I’ll be there. Sword drawn. Fire ready.
Not to fight for you —
but with you.

विश्वासाने बनते नाते,
नाते असते माणुसकीचे,
नाते असते प्रेमाचे तर,
नाते असते आपुलकीचे.
नात्यामध्ये नसते खोट,
नात्यामध्ये असतो विश्वास,
एकमेकांचे हात धरुनी
करूया आयुष्याचा प्रवास.

मदत करूया एकमेकांची,
सांभाळून घेऊ आपण चुका,
अडचणींच्या सागरातून होईल
पार संसाराची नौका.
अडचणींवर मात करुनी
घेऊया सुटकेचा निश्वास,
प्रेमाच्या सरी कोसळतील जर
तुझा असेल माझ्यावर विश्वास.

It struck me,
When my phone asked, no, demanded—
To back it up,
How machines claim their needs...
Sometimes, more often, than not,
better than we do!

I am good at being alone.
The dishes get done
when I feel like doing them.
Silence hangs like a painting
I chose myself.
The hours bend gently around me,
and I call it peace.

I laugh out loud
at my own jokes,
call it self-love,
call it growth.
The plants don’t mind
if I forget to water them,
and neither do I.
This is thriving, I tell myself.

Then I spend three days
with people I love.
Not performing.
Not planning.
Just existing
side by side-
a meal shared
without occasion,
laughter that erupts
without needing a reason.

I remember something
older than language:
that warmth isn’t just a temperature.
That joy has a different flavour
when someone else tastes it too.
I remember that solitude
was never meant to be
a permanent home-
only a resting place.

There is a part of me
that longs for gardens
we plant together,
for walls we build
with laughter baked in.
For shoes at the door
that aren’t all mine.

Maybe the soul remembers
what modern life unlearned-
that we were made
to brush shoulders
to pass bread
to belong.

And maybe
what I called thriving
was just surviving
with the lights on.

Ever noticed someone's cry,
like the prison it holds,
Where is the unknown present?

You chose to support them,
making them comfortable with the inmost of thy heart,
as a reflection of thy deepest feelings,
to heal those with similar struggles,
Improving their mental health.

These profound mysteries of the unknown are waiting to be unraveled,
But they don't express themselves.

So you offer a hug,
curing their darkness,
resembling a sense of belongingness,
Knowing they'll be loved no matter what they go through,
Even if they're incapable of seeing it.

You're forever loved,
Like the heavens that lie beyond our existence of infinity.