The way he used to laugh, the way he used to talk, all those habits seem to have been lost somewhere along the way. People say he has changed. They say it, but no one understands, he hasn’t changed, he has endured a lot of pain and is now silent.
His heart has become like an old house, where the walls are cracked, the roof leaks, the ceiling is covered with moths, and the door of his house is closed, making it very difficult to open. But still he stays there. Because the house is his, even if it collapses, even if it cracks, he has to stay there and he can neither complain nor leave.
The most painful thing for him is when memories suddenly knock on the door and enter. Sometimes with laughter, sometimes with tears. He tries to run away, but there is nowhere left to run, and now for him.
He has loved many people many times, but no one has ever loved him. Carrying everyone’s burden has bent his shoulders, his heart aches.
As night falls, his heart becomes even heavier. In the dark, he talks to himself. Things he can’t tell anyone. Even when he tries to shed tears, they are in his eyes, but they won’t let them flow. He doesn’t want anything anymore. Neither understanding, nor sympathy. It’s just that sometimes someone would have put their hand on his silence and said, “I am here, believe me.”
