The Heavy Suitcase

Dear Delyara, It started as a single word I couldn't say out loud. I thought if I kept it inside, it would just disappear, like a ghost in the fog. But secrets don't vanish; they grow heavy. For three years, I carried that word in my chest like a lead weight. It changed the way I walked. It changed the way I breathed. I was tired of being a container for things that hurt. Tonight, I came to the sanctuary because I couldn't carry the suitcase anymore. I sat at the wooden desk, the candle flickering like a heartbeat, and I let the pen touch the paper. At first, the ink felt like blood—thick and difficult. But then, the story began to flow. I wrote about the quiet nights of crying and the anger I wasn't "allowed" to have. As the pages filled, my shoulders actually dropped. I am walking out empty-handed, and it is the most beautiful feeling in the world.