LE VOYAGE

 

As you read, please play the video. This piece was my inspiration while writing the article.

On an ordinary empty train, I sat alone, listening to Nino Rota’s Romeo and Juliet Love Theme.

As the world slowly moved beneath me, my reflection in the window began to blur, and my life unfolded before my eyes.

Every scene, every memory, quietly parading to the rhythm of my heart.

Without even understanding why, I felt compelled to write down whatever crossed my mind.

Like a silent spell, drawing thoughts and emotions from the quiet depths of my core.

A weight so light, yet impossible to hide or ignore.

And without my usual messy, tangled introductions, I simply asked myself:

Why do I feel this need to write?

Why do I find it so easy to confess through solitary words?

Words that, when woven together, reveal the story of my life.

So here it is with no shame nor restraint...

I write to make noise in a world loud enough to conceal me, yet quiet within.

I write to silence the screams building inside this turbulent mind struggling to breathe.

I write for my pain and my sorrows. For my joys and my ecstasy, and a life that continues to shape me.

I write to share a piece of my heart. Unknown, untamed, and wild.

I write for those long and empty nights guarded by distant, watchful stars.

I write for the unheard smiles. For dreams left unfinished, buried deep, or simply never found.

I write to my younger self, foolish enough to mistrust the power within her.

I write to my older self, brave enough to fight, yet not always strong enough to lead.

I write for the cruelty of some friends and the unwavering presence of the precious ones.

I write to hope and better endings. I write to greatness instead of shame. For life instead of mere survival, for acceptance and adaptation over false regret.

I write to this aching heart, this lost spirit, coaxing them to sway to the rhythm of an eternal dance.

I write for the opera I am still composing.

A Mozart Requiem, light as breath. Yet raging, turbulent, and profoundly deep.

A Strauss masterpiece, always joyful, but melancholic underneath. A Machiavellian and deceiving waltz that spins lovers closer only to pull them apart.

A Beethoven, where music screams, collapses, then rises and survives.

And like a sweet Vivaldi- the red priest- navigating life as a four-season symphony. A cycle well known, yet unpredictable, a loop only the virtuous can endure.

Like a confessional Chopin, I write down my heart, the echoes of my psyche, the rumble of an unsurrendering soul that clings to the unknown.

I write for those like me, who want to be heard yet are unable to show themselves to the immense crowd.

I write because it is my refuge, my solace in a deafening void. I write to exist, to feel, to live a cursed and forbidden self-love.

A Merytel where only words are my partner, emotions my witnesses, and readers my invisible audience.

Yours Meryem.