zadia najwan

Please bear with me. I might call all this pain and suffering poetry someday.

I am late to the party, as always. I am always late to the worldly things.

Life is a casino and I gamble with my heart.

There is always something you think you can't handle and then tomorrow comes. And you are still alive. And you are somehow managing it all, way better than what you thought.

Love, my love...! It is, but not the reason people stay for.

I am sad everywhere I go.

He is made of art and galaxies. She is made of poetry and stardust.

She is made of poetry and stardust. He is made of art and galaxies.

I can carry the whole world on my back for everyone. The problem is that I am not willing to do it for just anyone.

The most beautiful souls are those who teach you to find magic in the shifting light of the sky.

The problem is not that we have a lot of idiots in society. The problem is that a lot of idiots in society have educational degrees.

Every free person I know is dangerously rebellious.

I want to sit somewhere quiet, a place where the air doesn't carry the weight of a deadline or the sharp noise of a name being called. I am tired of the way life demands a reaction, the way it pulls at my sleeve and asks for more than I have in my pockets. I want to be unbothered, to exist like a stone at the bottom of a cold lake, or a single chair in an empty room that no one ever enters. No one to look at my face and ask what is wrong, no one to watch the way I breathe and find it lacking. Just a stillness so heavy it feels like a physical thing, a silence that doesn't need to be filled with excuses or apologies for simply being alive.

Whatever arises from ruins, you must consider it sacred and treat it like a divine mercy. Not everyone gets the chance to be turned to ashed and come back alive.

Hope is beautiful until you have to carry it for years on your back without any answer, without any ray of sunshine, without any support, without any humanity offered.

Funny, isn't it? They know the undone dishes, the messed up sleep schedule, the late nights doomscrolling, and the deteriorating health. They see the falling hair, the dull skin, but not the things that caused them. They don't see the weight of their words on your chest, the sharp tips of the knives of their behavior stuck in your bones, or the loud voices and curses and hands causing your mental illness. Funny, isn't it?