By: Dr. Adnan Bozan

Here I stand at the edge of silence, counting my breaths as a passerby counts their steps on an abandoned sidewalk.

I am fine... until further notice, until the moment ceases to toy with me, until time stops slipping into my ribs like an inescapable, heavy shadow.

Because the streets no longer stalk my footsteps like a patient wolf, because the traffic lights no longer scream at me in an unfamiliar language, because the sidewalks no longer tremble beneath me whenever I walk past without looking back—I am fine.

Because I have learned to understand silence and embrace it like an old friend, because I now know how to brew my coffee black, as it should be, and how to open the window without the night collapsing onto my shoulders—I am fine.

Because I no longer search for my face in the features of strangers, no longer offer my heart like a worn-out coin on the tables of time, no longer chase after words that flee from me like birds escaping the sound of gunfire—I am fine.

The rain no longer scolds me for my absence, the air no longer weighs heavy in my chest, and memories no longer drag my steps backward. I write without trembling, walk unchained, and breathe deeply, without nostalgia suffocating me.

Even though the wind still plays with my sails, and the night folds distances slowly, like a wise man reading the spells of absence—even though the roads have not entirely forgotten my name—I am fine.

The mirrors no longer ask me, "What remains of you?" and I no longer seek an answer. I have learned to mend my solitude with songs the walls do not recognize, to prepare my coffee without searching for sugar in the pockets of longing, and to open my window without the night crashing down on my head like a forsaken poem.

I no longer arrange my features to meet the expectations of passersby, nor do I barter my heart for the ticking of cold cities, nor chase after words that slip away like swallows at the end of a season. The rain no longer asks me where I was when it fell alone, and the echo of my footsteps no longer carries the weight of old scars.

I am fine...

Or so I convince my heart, so that my pulse does not betray me, so that dreams do not return dressed in the color of absence.

Yes... did I tell you that I am fine?

That I sip the bitterness of my eternal sorrow slowly, as if savoring it?

And did I tell you that longing burns upon the face of exile, leaning against the faces of strangers like a shadow that never fades?

That every time I open my window, I find the night staring back at me with eyes heavy with memory, as if I were its forgotten reflection?