Lovelydee

And are actually willing to hurt the big rabbit through law if they found that the big rabbit stepped close to the little rabbit ever again

the wolves told the little rabbit that the big rabbit cleared their real age, and yelled saying “what are you gonna do about it?” Claiming that the big rabbit said that the small rabbit followed it everywhere and the small rabbit can never leave it.

And that the big rabbit said “your small wolf follows me everywhere and is the one searching for me”

And that the small rabbit is the who is wrong. Beaten by the big wolves horribly leaving it cry till the sun rose up again.

The little rabbit had a horrible night, closer to a nightmare than any horror movie.

Things are devastating and the little rabbit cant even hop around its own garden. The little rabbit is caged and cannot leave home.

The little rabbit loves the big rabbit. And will forever try to reconnect the heart of its own. But things are hard and the little rabbit was about to lose its own soul.

I’m fine.

I guess.

Two days have felt like two hundred years. Every night stretched into a week spent in bed. I cried a river while waiting for a message I already knew I could never receive.

My heart is disappointed, though.

I don’t know which truth is real. Was it that you sold our love within a few minutes? Or was our love simply never as big as I believed it was?

Maybe it’s neither.

Maybe it’s the disappointment itself, the way it changed the color of life. Or the way they looked at me across the dining table as tears gathered in my eyes, while my trembling hand reached for my neck, tracing the bruises I earned for us.

I don’t know how to feel.

Should I mourn the shattered heart inside my own chest? Or should I grieve the love we built together?

And who ended it?

Was it them?

Or was it me?

I can’t blame you.

Can I?

My heart refuses to.

Did you really say those words?

I keep asking myself that question until it echoes louder than silence.

I can’t even find the courage to reach for your heart again. Uncertainty has built a home inside mine.

Did you really say those things about me?

Or was it them, weaving lies between us, trying to separate two hearts that only ever wanted each other?

My eighteenth birthday felt like every birthday before it.

Lifeless.

Painful.

Emotionally.

Physically.

I sat at the restaurant’s table, staring at the birthday cake, feeling nothing except the sharp sting of the bruises scattered across my body, and the scars that seemed to bloom beneath my skin.

I swallowed every tear before it could escape.

I wore a smile that never belonged to me.

I was forced to become the happy birthday girl.

As I leaned forward and blew out the candles, I rested back in my chair. My head felt strangely light.

My fingers drifted into my hair without thinking, and somehow it felt thinner than it had yesterday.

Then I remembered.

The strands scattered across my bedroom floor.

Each one lying in a corner of its own, waiting where I had left them, as though pieces of me had quietly abandoned my body before I ever could.

Maybe it really was me.

Maybe it was never you.

But no matter how many questions remain unanswered…

I spent most of my summers at my sister’s house. The morning light pouring through the windows always seemed brighter than the sun itself. Everything there glowed with that kind of warmth I have never been able to explain. Even the cup of milk waiting for me each morning felt different. it reminded me that I was still a child. even though I never dared to drink it in the place I called “home.”

وأبلع حروفي لا بغت تسبَق لسَاني

اكتم شعوري لو غلاه يتعبني فيه

ولا اطيحك بين ظنّي وحرماني

أهون عليّ إنّي أتالم وأخفّيه

ولا يجي منك الحزن بسبة لسّاني

تبقى غالي ولو الزمن يشقّيه

ترى ما لكلام الشاعر قيمه لو تنهدت

ثانية يا قلبي تراني من عاشقين قلبه تحمل لعيونه والله اني اوعدك عوض ينسيك الم عاشقينك

اشهد دمعي ثقيل عليك وعلى شاعر عارف قيمة محبينه

تكفى يا غالي حس فيني ولو شوي والله ان قلبي من عاشقينك

يا روحي هدي شوي، لو لقلبي عندك قيمه

ويا لَطافةِ الصباحِ حينَ يصفو فيه البال.

أشعرُ أنَّ قلبي عاد

رهيفًا، صغيرًا،

جميلًا… ومخيفًا،

كأنَّه سرٌّ أخافُ عليه من الانكسار.

أخشى عليهِ

من جرحٍ قديم

لم يُتقن الشفاء.

مشاعري ألوان،

كمدِّ البحرِ وجزره،

وكسَمائه،

تمرُّ كنسيم الريف… لو كان له لون.

ولو لفراشةِ الطفولةِ اسماً،

لسمَّيتُ مشاعري بها.

ويا لابتسامةٍ

تُزهرُ رغم العناء،

كأنها انتصارٌ صغير

عمرٌ مضى،

لكنَّ الأيام تخبرني بهدوء:

ويتكاسل المشتاق عن الاستيقاظ،

لا يكترث بيوم كهذا،

ولا يرغب بمواجهته،

فدرجات الزهري والأحمر تلمس قلبه بما لا يحتمله.

فالظلام يضمّه، والفراش الدافئ يلفه،

For meeting me when I was still light.

When my name felt easy in my mouth,

when I didn’t have to think before giving.

I wish we had stayed longer.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just long enough for the page to stretch a little.

To grow wider, taller,

to learn how to hold more days,

maybe even years. Maybe it could’ve stopped the change.

the sky felt kinder.

Blue actually meant something.

Mornings called my name softly,

and I answered without doubt.

Everything felt possible then.

And sometimes I wish I were you.

Not in a way you’d understand,

but so I could remember myself

the way you do.

The light in my eyes.

That easy smile.

The warmth I gave without thinking.

I envy you for holding that version of me,

untouched by what came after.

Because I’m somewhere else now.

Lost in a city I didn’t plan on visiting.

Still searching for the guide I once carried so naturally