By: Dr. Adnan Bozan 

In the corridors of the night, when voices fade and cities grow quiet, the doors of memory swing open, and life overflows with the disappointments and longings hidden by the day. How many dreams have the years buried beneath the rubble of waiting? And how many wounds have slumbered in the heart like embers that silence could not extinguish?

We stand at the crossroads of souls, carrying in our eyes remnants of light and in our chests cities of unanswered questions. There, where solitude meets nostalgia, silence becomes louder than words, and we try to gather what remains of us, lest the whirlpools of loss consume us.

But was getting lost ever a choice? Or were we stolen from ourselves as we chased the mirage of dreams? We walked on, believing the roads would lead us to safety, only to discover that they were stripping away fragments of our souls until we became mere shadows of our former selves.

How many times have we looked into the mirror and failed to recognize who we are? How many times have we passed by places that once pulsed with life in our hearts, only to find them reduced to ashes without features? Is it we who have changed, or has time turned its back on us and left?

And despite this weary longing, despite the wounds that never healed, despite the dreams that collapsed under the weight of disappointment… we still carry within us a faint ember of hope, afraid that it might flicker out, yet clinging to it as if it were our last vessel in a sea of uncertainty.

Not because we believe in salvation, but because surrender is not an option… And because life, no matter how cruel, will never bow except to those who insist on standing—even if on the edge of despair.

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