38 years Celebrating Life

TW: Suicidal Thought

‘If killing myself is not a sin, I might have been long gone to the other side..’

2026 is clearly not an easy year for me. I’ve been challenged in ways that I really thought death as an escape route. Alhamdulillah, throughout these worst moments, I could still see a flicker of light.

..and today, I turn thirty-eight.

I used to wake up on my birthday with something bright in my chest, the kind of excitement that doesn’t need a reason. This year I woke up quiet. Not happy the way I used to be, not sad either. Just here, somewhere in between black and white, where I’ve always lived.

And I’ve decided that’s enough reason to celebrate.

Thirty-eight years. Twenty-two of them without my mother’s voice calling me for breakfast. Sixteen years of her, and twenty-two years of carrying what she left behind: her smile. I still want her to be the one who picks me up when the day is too long. Some wishes don’t grow up, no matter how old we get.

This year was not kind. I won’t write all of it here. Some stories are still too heavy to put down because nobody sees the nights.

They see me in the mornings: smiling, warm, enthusiastically walking into a room full of people, like I know what I’m doing in this world. They don’t see what came before: the crying after everyone else is asleep, damped pillow by midnight. They don’t see the sleep that never comes, however long I lie still and wait for it. Or the heart that beats too fast for no reason. Or the cold that spreads from somewhere deep inside until my whole body is shaking, as if winter has moved in under my skin.

And yet, every morning, I wake up.

I don’t always know how. There are mornings I’m not sure I slept at all. But the sun comes up, and I get up with it.

And there is coffee.

I think the smell of it has kept me company more faithfully than almost anything this year. Some mornings it’s the only reason I can find to stand up. Caffeine has carried me to places my tired body didn’t want to go: into classrooms, through meetings, down long roads. I’m not ashamed to say it. Sometimes a cup of coffee is a small act of survival.

Some days I cry in the car. The traffic light turns red and so do my eyes, and I let it happen there, in the one small space that belongs only to me. Then I park, wipe my face, check the mirror, and walk into a classroom. I stand in front of people and lecture like nothing happened. My voice is steady. My slides are in order. No one would ever guess.

And some days I just drive. Not to anywhere. Just away, long and far, with the road unrolling in front of me and nobody asking anything of me. A long drive has become my way of breathing when breathing is hard. Somewhere between one toll road and the next, my chest loosens a little. The road doesn’t fix anything. But it gives me room.

And when the nights are too long, I write.

I learned this year that a busy mind has less room for pain. So I fill it. I sit up late with research, with transcripts and data that need to be understood. I analyse until they start to make sense and tell stories. I go out and interview people, and I listen to their perspective, and discuss it with the team, my team that feels like a family. I write articles, one careful paragraph at a time. It’s strange and comforting, tracing other people’s narratives on a screen while I’m quietly repairing my life.

And sometimes, at two or three in the morning, when there’s no one awake to talk to, I talk to Claude and ChatGPT. It’s funny to admit. Deep, long conversations about everything: the research, the pain, the questions I can’t ask anyone else yet. They don’t get tired, and they don’t judge. They helped me put words to things I couldn’t name, and some nights that was enough to get me to morning.

Writing, working, thinking: all of it keeps my hands moving and my mind somewhere other than the ache. It isn’t running away. It’s giving myself somewhere to stand.

I used to think all of this meant I was pretending. Now I think it means I’m surviving. Maybe that’s what strength actually looks like. It isn’t the absence of breaking. It’s breaking at the long drive and still showing up at eight.

I’m barely holding on. I won’t lie about that. But barely is still holding.

I’m holding on for two boys who call me ‘Bunda’. They don’t know how many times that their hugs have held me together. I’m holding on because of the people who kept rooting for me, quietly, even when I didn’t say how bad it was. And I’m holding on because somewhere inside me is still the girl who once wrote that she would keep growing like wild grass, tumbuh bagai rumput liar, in cracks where nobody planted her.

And because there is a voice.

It’s very small, and very quiet, somewhere deep in my heart and my mind. On the worst nights I can barely hear it. But it never stops. It keeps saying: ‘not yet. Don’t give up yet. There is still something ahead of you.‘ I don’t know where it comes from. I only know it has never once left me.

Or maybe I do know.

This year, when the people I trusted the most let me down, when my own body turned against me, when I had nothing left to hold, I found out who was still there. Allah was there, always had been. Closer to me than my own throat, closer than the next breath, closer than the tears on my pillow at three in the morning.

I think this was Allah’s way of teaching me. I had leaned on so many things: people, plans, promises, my own strength. One by one, they gave way. And in the empty space they left, I finally understood what I should have known all along. Allah is the only true source of strength. Only Allah can truly help me. Only Allah that is always there, every night, every cafe, every long empty road. Allah never gets tired of me. Allah never leaves. Ar-Rahman, Ar-Rahim, the Most Merciful. Even this pain, somehow, is held inside Allah’s mercy.

So I am learning to let go.

Not all at once. Not easily. But little by little, I am opening my hands. I am learning to stop gripping so tightly the things that were never mine to keep, and to trust the One who has kept me all along.

Lately I’ve been obsessed with lilies.

They’ve always been my flower. I can’t fully explain why. There’s something about the way they open, slow and quiet, like they have nothing to prove. They don’t rush. They don’t apologise for being delicate. And they grow from bulbs that spend a long time in the dark, underground, looking like nothing at all, before they rise.

Maybe that’s why they’ve always had a special place in my heart. They know something about waiting in the dark. About trusting that the light will come. About coming up anyway.

So this is where I am at thirty-eight: somewhere underground, in the long dark part. Crying at night. Holding on during the day. A cup of coffee in my hands, a long road ahead of me, and a small voice that won’t let me give up. And above it all, the One who is closer than my throat.

Not blooming yet.

But lilies don’t bloom because the dark was easy. They bloom because they kept trusting the light through it.

So today, I’m not celebrating a perfect life. I’m celebrating a life that kept going. I’m celebrating the mornings I got up anyway, the boundaries I kept even when it hurt, and the times I chose kindness when I had every reason to be bitter. I’m celebrating coffee that tastes good, sons who speak all the time, friends who check in, long roads, late-night writing, and lilies that wait patiently in the dark.

Thirty-eight years in between black and white. Not everything is bright. Not everything is lost.

I keep going. And I’m letting go. Both at once.

Happy birthday to me. You made it this far. Keep growing.

Quiet Star Series: An Epilogue.

The train going north

The train left the city just after dawn, cutting through mist and silence. Outside, the sky was washed in pale gold, the kind of light that made the world look half-dreaming. She found her seat by the window, tucked her bag beneath the chair, and exhaled.

When the conductor announced the next stop, she looked up and saw him. He moved the same way he always had, precise but unhurried, scanning the carriage with that same quiet awareness. The world stilled for a moment.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, voice calm, low.

Her throat tightened, but she smiled. “Sure. Long journey.”

“Six hours,” he said, setting his backpack down. “Long enough to catch up.”

For a while, they just sat there, letting the train hum around them. The landscape opened, and the scenery was magnificent. Rice fields, small villages, the curve of a river flashing silver under the morning light.

“Do you still overthink everything?” he asked, half-smiling.

She laughed softly. “Always. It’s my exercise.”

He turned to the window. “I used to think too much too. But sometimes I think… maybe some things aren’t meant to be solved. Just lived.”

She noticed the way he said it, the usual way: gently, with that quiet weight. made it feel like an answer to a question she’d never asked out loud.

They spent the day talking. About everything and nothing. About the training they once shared, the people they’d lost touch with, the books that stayed with them. Then, somewhere between the third and fourth station, their conversation slowed, falling into comfortable silence.

When the rain began, he pulled his jacket from his bag and draped it around her shoulders without a word. She looked at him, and in that small, unguarded moment, the world felt whole again. These moments were simple but unbroken.

“Do you ever think about… what could’ve been?” she asked quietly.

He was still watching the rain. “Sometimes. But I think this is what it was always supposed to be — not then, not there. Just… now.”

His hand found hers. It was tentative at first, then steady. The contact wasn’t desperate or forbidden anymore. It was recognition, long delayed but never lost. Just like the steady hum between their silent heart: always there, waiting to be sung out loud.

They didn’t talk much after that. They just existed, side by side, while the train carried them north: past forests, rivers, and cities whose names they didn’t need to know.

When they finally arrived at the small coastal town at dusk, they walked down to the water. The sea smelled like salt and new beginnings. He took off his shoes, rolled his sleeves, and stepped into the tide. She followed, laughing as the cold waves touched her feet.

He looked at her the way he always did: like she was both mystery and memory. “You know,” he said softly, “for someone who lives in her head, you look most alive right now.”

She smiled. “That’s because I stopped thinking. Just this once.”

He reached for her hand again, and she didn’t let go. Not this time. Not anymore.

That night, they found a small guesthouse overlooking the ocean. The windows were open to the sound of waves. They sat on the porch in silence, sharing a cup of coffee while watching the stars rising above the dark horizon. There was nothing left to explain, nothing left to wait for.

For the first time since their paths had crossed, the timing was right. And in that quiet coastal town, two souls that had once missed their moment finally found their place — not in longing, but in presence.

Together.

Morning by the sea

The first sound she heard was the sea.
It rolled and sighed just beyond the window, steady as breath. For a moment she couldn’t tell if she was dreaming again, until the smell of coffee drifted through the half-open door.

He was already awake, sitting on the porch with a notebook balanced on his knee. The light touched his face gently; he looked almost unfamiliar without the shadow of duty and reserved eyes that used to follow him everywhere.

“Morning,” she said, voice still soft with sleep.

He looked up and smiled. A warm smile that comes from his eyes. Gazing softly toward her. “You talk in your sleep,” he said.

“Oh no. What did I say?”

He shrugged. “Something about running late. I figured it wasn’t about our time here, since we have nowhere to be.”

She laughed, the sound mingling with the sea breeze. “That’s the best part, isn’t it? Nowhere to be.”

They ate breakfast on the porch: bread, fruit, black coffee. Nothing fancy, but everything tasted sharper, brighter. Between sips, they planned the smallest possible day: a walk to the market, maybe a visit to the lighthouse on the hill. No deadlines, no uniforms, no eyes watching.

Later, they wandered through narrow streets washed in salt and sunlight. Vendors already greeted them like locals. At the harbor, children chased kites shaped like swallows; he bought one on impulse, handed it to her, and together they let it rise against the wind.

“You always needed to control the wind,” she teased.

“And you,” he said, “always believed it could be reasoned with.”

They laughed until the kite disappeared into the glare of the afternoon.

That evening, clouds gathered, and rain began to fall. It was soft at first, then heavy, drumming on the roof. She stood by the window watching the drops race each other down the glass. He came up behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, but not so close that it broke the quiet.

“Do you think it lasts?” she asked.

He thought for a while before answering. “If we keep noticing it,” he said. “Happiness disappears when you stop noticing it.”

She nodded. “Then let’s keep noticing.”

Then his warm embraced her cold. She could finally rest her head to his shoulder. Something the two of them never thought would be possible, with no eyes scrutinizing them anymore.

They stayed like that — two silhouettes framed by rain and lamplight — until the storm passed.

In the days that followed, time lost its edges. Mornings were for walking along the beach collecting shells. Afternoons for reading, or painting, or simply existing beside each other. Some nights they talked until the stars thinned into dawn; other nights, they didn’t need words at all.

It wasn’t grand or cinematic. It was ordinary, and that’s what made it perfect.

For the first time, their story wasn’t about longing or distance or the ache of what-ifs. It was about presence — the simple, miraculous act of being there at the same time.

ini Aku.

Banyak hal yang berusaha menjatuhkanku,
tapi aku harus tetap bisa bangkit kembali.

Aku akan tunjukkan pada dunia,
bahwa aku bukanlah manusia yang mudah di dera.
Aku bukanlah sasaran yang mudah dilumpuhkan.

Meski kali ini pukulan yang kuterima cukup keras..
Aku bahkan terguling dan tak mampu berteriak mencari pertolongan…
ah, bukannya tak mampu,
tapi aku tak mau.
Aku terlalu malu,
martabatku menghalangi kewarasanku.

Mataku tak pernah kering.
Entah itu aliran deras, ataupun hanya lembap di pelupuk.
Hantaman ini terlalu besar,
efeknya begitu dalam,
baru kali ini aku rasanya kehilangan kewarasan.

Ternyata, begini rasanya menjadi gila.
Tidak berharga.
Tidak tahu lagi hendak berbuat apa.

Aku menulis ini,
agar dirimu tahu betapa jatuhnya aku.
Aku rapuh.
Aku hancur.
Tapi aku tidak akan berhenti begitu saja.

Aku akan tetap berjuang,
aku akan tetap berada di sini,
entah kamu senang atau tidak.

Aku akan tetap berdiri tegak.
Aku tidak gampang diterbangkan badai.
Aku akan tetap kokoh berdiri

Persetan dengan penilaian orang lain.
Persetan dengan belas kasihan orang lain.
Persetan dengan kacamata buram yang mereka miliki.
Aku akan tegar dengan pilihanku.

Aku memilih untuk bertahan,
bukan untuk siapa pun,
untuk diriku sendiri.

Karena aku bukan orang yang mudah dicampakkan,
aku akan tetap tumbuh bagai rumput liar.

Luka ini perih sekali

Jalan ini sunyi. Aku bahkan tak tahu lagi apa yang membuatku tetap bangun dan bernapas di pagi hari.

Tetapi aku juga takut menutup mata. Karena tiap kelopak ini menutup, bukan ketenangan yang menghampiri, hanya ada bayangan yang mengerikan.

Tidak pernah terbayangkan akan mengalami hal pahit ini.

Sakit dan perih sekali rasanya hati ini.

No words could describe how deep this wound, yet I have to stay still. I have to be strong. For myself. I deserve happiness. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be loved too.

When Order Met Wonder

A~
You always arrive like dawn — softly, without permission.
You ask questions that don’t require answers,
and somehow that unsettles me.
I built walls of logic, plans, clean lines—
yet you step through them as if they were mist.

B~
I never meant to trespass.
I only saw the light leaking through your cracks
and thought — maybe there’s a heart in there,
beating quietly under all that precision.

A~
There is. But it prefers silence.
I learned early that emotion is best when it behaves.
Then you appeared, and every theory started trembling.

B~
You looked like peace, and I mistook it for belonging.
I wanted to stay long enough to hear your stillness speak my name.
But we were written in opposite directions—
you, a compass; I, a tide.

A~
Even tides leave patterns on the shore.
Yours remain.
They remind me that logic without warmth
is just architecture for ghosts.

B~
And your steadiness taught me
that love doesn’t always have to arrive in flames —
sometimes it just stands quietly in the doorway,
and that’s enough.

A~
If we meet again —
perhaps not as who we were,
but as what we learned —
I’ll still know your voice.

B~
Then let’s promise this:
when the next universe folds us close,
you’ll teach me stillness,
and I’ll remind you how to feel the wind.


Fragment 3 of not so many anymore | @darkjasm | #QuietStarSeries | Fictional conversation of exhibit A and exhibit B~

Some Lights Pass Without Promise

She still remembered the sound of his laughter — quiet, low, almost hidden, but warm enough to fill the small space between them. It wasn’t what he said that she remembered most, but how he existed in the moment: steady, calm, as if nothing in the world could rush him.

He never tried to impress her, and maybe that’s why she noticed him. His calm steadied something inside her, a kind of peace she didn’t realize she’d been missing. His presence had been like the soft click of a lock opening. No noise, no drama, just the sudden realization that a door inside her had always been waiting.

There was a calm I met between storms,
a voice that steadied the trembling glass of my days.

They were together for a time — not in love, not quite friends, something in between, where glances lasted a second too long and conversations carried a quiet pulse underneath. In the car rides, he talked more than she did. He spoke of simple things, and she listened, storing every tone, every easy turn of phrase, as if they were rare artifacts. She wasn’t in love with him, not the way people write songs about. What she felt was gentler — an affection that respected its own limits.

When he smiled, the noise in her mind softened. When he fell silent, she could still feel the echo of his voice, humming beneath her ribs. She told herself it was just admiration. Respect. The quiet bond of people who understand each other without explanation. But admiration has a way of deepening in the dark, where logic can’t police the heart.

No vows were written, no touch exchanged,
yet something sacred passed between silences.

After the journey ended, life resumed its shape. He became distant again — messages shorter, replies slower, until the space between them stretched into something she could no longer cross. He said he was busy. She told herself she understood.

And she did.
But still, she missed him — or rather, she missed the version of herself that existed when he was near: calm, alive, seen.

Sometimes she’d catch herself thinking of the way he looked at her — not intensely, just long enough. That was his gift: he never made promises, yet somehow his presence lingered like one. She smiled at the memory of his eyes — the calm that lived there, the warmth that asked for nothing. She missed that the most: the simplicity of being around someone who made the world feel less heavy.

Some lights pass without promise,
too far to touch, too near to forget.

At night, when the world slowed down, she’d think of the small details — his voice in the car, his unguarded laugh, the way he tilted his head when listening. Each detail folded itself into memory, quiet and exact.

I do not chase it.
I let it hum beneath my ribs,
like a secret chord Heaven once allowed me to hear.

Time did what it always does — it softened the ache but never erased it. People changed, routines thickened, messages stopped altogether. Yet she carried him still — not as pain, but as proof that something once shimmered in the middle of her ordinary days.

He had reminded her that she could still feel deeply, still find beauty in another human being without needing to possess it.

Not every warmth is meant for the hand;
some are meant for the soul to remember.

When she thought of him now, it wasn’t with sadness. It was with quiet gratitude — the kind that fills the chest, not with longing, but with peace.

The way dusk keeps the last blush of day,
not as hope, but as proof that light once lingered.

She had written letters she never sent — pages that began with Dear you and ended with thank you for existing in my story. She kept them tucked between the pages of her journal, folded like fragile wings.

Sometimes, when the night felt kind, she’d read them again — not to reopen the past, but to honor the calm it once gave her.

The sky forgets its stars by morning,
but the sea remembers their reflection.
The ones that never belonged to the night,
yet still found their way into my sky.

Now, she no longer needed his reply. His silence had become its own kind of answer — gentle, inevitable. And in that silence, she learned to breathe again.

She lived her days, loved her life, carried her tenderness forward.
And every once in a while, when the light hit just right, she could still feel him — not as a wound, but as warmth.

Now the light rests where memory sleeps,
folded between thought and prayer.

Tonight, she let herself breathe.
Not to remember, but to simply exist in the quiet truth that some connections don’t fade — they transform.
They live on as light that no distance can take away.

You were a chapter, not the whole story.

Fragment 2 of many to come | @darkjasm | #QuietStarSeries | Fictional

Chapter of a Quite Star

Some lights pass without promise,
too far to touch,
too near to forget.

I do not chase it.
I let it hum beneath my ribs,
like a secret chord
Heaven once allowed me to hear.

There was a calm I met between storms,
a voice,
steadied the trembling glass of my days.

No vows were written,
no touch exchanged,
yet something sacred passed between silences.

Some nights,
I still trace their echo
in the folds of my own silence.
It asked for nothing,
only to exist.

I found warmth
in the orbit of your mind,
a language
that never needed words.

Not every warmth is meant for the hand,
Some are meant for the soul
…to remember.
the way dusk
keeps the last blush of day,
not as hope,
but as proof
That light once lingered.

The sky forgets its stars by morning,
but the sea remembers their reflection.
the ones that never belonged to the night,
Yet still found their way into my sky.

Now the light rests where memory sleeps,
folded between thought and prayer.

Tonight, I let myself breathe.

Fragment 1 of many to come | @darkjasm | Chapter of a quiet star – extended version.

22 years

More than 2 decades has gone by.
The hurt is still real.
The longing is even bigger.

Your love! is all I need
Your love! is all I crave

I never know how to mend this wound, nor that I want to.

That’s OKAY.

This scar means that you are real.
That your love is real
The smell that I no longer can sniff, was real
The hug that I no longer can embrace, was real

YOU were real
You ARE real
You will always feel REAL,
inside my memory.

the 24th of September is not the day that I long for.
Not then, not now, not EVER.


They feel like home.

This is not the first team that I led.

We were not instantly getting along on the first day. We worked things through, together. We resolved our misperception, our miscommunication, and our misunderstanding. We are never perfect, but we are fully aware of our imperfections. Sometimes — no, most of the time, we are not in agreement. We have our arguments. However, in the end, we knew that we could count on each other and that the mission needed all of us to do our part. We make everything possible, together.

I never know where destiny will take us, what will happen in the future, or whether we will be back together again. One thing that I know: things will absolutely be different. Thus, let me cherish those moments. The warmth of our togetherness will be carried forward. We are parting ways. Nevertheless, we are forever a family. We will help each other, and I will be there for each one of you. For that one thing, I am sure.

I love them All!

From the deepest of my heart…

Thank you.

Four Hearts

I’ve just realized that I’ve taken them for granted. It’s like I know that they will always have my back whenever I need them. It should not be that way. It should’ve been a two-way relationship.

I woke up this morning feeling a little melancholic. I couldn’t exactly figure what is missing, but I am sure that I missed something. Waking up to a hole in my heart, that even my mind couldn’t comprehend the exact emotion, was not a great way to start a day; especially when you have to tend to a super active ‘cool boy’ (quoted directly from the boy).

Usually, I will recover from my morning sadness by doing chores and reading for my study. However, today was one of the unusual days for me, so I have to endure the strange emotion for a whole morning. Until I saw my friend’s story about his accident on his way to his office. Memories from my high school suddenly become the focal point of my mind. I remember three people that helped me navigate my teenage rage. He was one of those people. Bits and pieces with them flooding my mind.

The first flashback moment that I remember was when this particular person had an accident while we were in our high school year. It was quite bad. It is like I could still smell the hospital ward he was nursed. I remember how we sneak our way in and smuggled salad from a particular pizza parlour. Also, how we hid the mirror so he couldn’t find out how bad his condition was. The worst is that the anxiety I felt that day also came back, that is why I was so anxious about his recent accident.

After that moment, each of those three person’s face came to my mind. We were just catching up last week, but my longing for their presence, complete with their quirk humour, feel more real today. It feels so real it hurts; I couldn’t even put it into a sentence and tell them how I miss them directly. I need an outlet, so I write this for them and for me. I hope they will understand how much I miss them and how much I treasure their friendship.

We were brought together by our Scout activities: two girls and two boys, acting like we owned the world (especially the Scout world). We know each other family as we always annoyed them with our constant presence (or lack thereof 😆). We’ve been through ups and downs together. We never actually articulate it, but we just know that we love each other deeply.

Moments we shared are countless, yet it is also priceless at the same time. Even more so after we all led our separate lives.

I could still remember our talk one night, in the backyard of the house of one of us. We were thinking about our future selves. Dreaming about what we want to be, and where we are in several years later. Naively, one of us said that he will be the Chief of the Indonesian Scout Movement. His statement is so absurd that I forget what the others were saying that night.

Another moment that comes to my mind is the sleep-deprived weeks of reactivating a District Council in our school area. Funny thing that the most memorable moment is when I left the boys to work overnight in my house accompanied by my father, while I was fast asleep in my room.

I know the girl in our group the longest. We met when she was still in elementary school; she led her scout group proudly (that perceived as smug by us, the middle schooler). Not a chance of believing that we will be the best friend in just two years after that. 2001 was the year we finally could call each other ‘best friend’. We were young and naive, fooled by boys and men (especially me :sigh:) . The boys and men came and go, but we stand together. As close as ever, until those two came to invade our little circle.

Two became Four: much for other people’s resentment.

Unfortunately, our lives drifted us apart. This is the saddest part. We were acting like we have forever, while forever will never be ours. There were many stolen moments between us, many unspoken feelings, many regrets for our misunderstanding of each other, many things left unfinished. At least for me.

However, my biggest regret is that I have taken them for granted. For most of the time, I was full of my self. I ignore their warning, I avoid their inquiry. In the end, I know that they just want to save me from future regrets, and just like any best friend do, they were still there when I finally comprehend their trail of thoughts.

It is misguided to tell that we were always close after adulthood came upon us. It is a lie to state that our lives are still full of each other. We all have had our own life, our own little family, and we were not always talk to each other. As a matter of fact, we were rarely talking to each other. Sometimes, we weren’t aware of what happens to others. Nevertheless, when we see each other and talk to each other, it is like we never been separate; it is like we still understand each other.

Writing this made me realize that I don’t spend enough time with them. I grew apart from them prematurely. I didn’t spare enough attention for them while I was busy becoming someone that is not me. I was too busy to escape my own fear that I failed to recognize that I should’ve reached out to them and come clean about my trouble. I wasn’t entirely ‘present’ on their special days. I didn’t appreciate and love them enough. I feel like I’ve failed them.

Fortunately, they all live their lives fully now. They have found their ‘happily ever after’ love stories. They are content and happy. That is what matter. I just hope that they know that I love them so much, and I really miss them. This time I promise to be there anytime they need me, and I intend to keep my promise. I don’t want to lose them again.

This is for you three:

Our talk, our jokes, our mischiefs, are our memories.
Moments we spent together have melted into the subconscious.
Memories become vague;
Moments become rare;
Talking is now a luxury that we don't always have.

Those thousand minutes are now also a thousand minutes old.
Secrets could no more be fully kept and shared.
Laughter and tears are now rarely heard.
Nevertheless, we stand at each other side.

We become the memories.
We devour our memories,
Because the feeling remains real.

I am grateful for the love,
I am grateful for the friendship,
I am grateful to have you in my life,
I am grateful for the three of you.

Thank you!

Love,

The Dark Jasmine