Aida Zabidi
“I didn’t want to feel this way.” 

I could hear the heartbreak in her voice. It felt so long since anyone I knew had undergone this raw emotion, but I still remembered that feeling. 

A memory of dashed hopes and crumbled dreams. 

The keening loss of something that might have been. 

She had put herself into a situation where hope was allowed to blossom, regardless the number of times she had told herself no, that she had warned herself that it was a situation that might never come to be, that it was an open ended possibility. 

She had done what I had done to myself before, but hope will blossom where it wants to, and in the occasional case, hope will be dashed as carelessly as it has bloomed. 

“I don’t why I’m crying. This is so stupid!” 

“It’s alright to acknowledge your feelings. It’s perfectly justified to acknowledge the hurt. It wasn’t something that came out of nowhere, but it was something that deserves acknowledgement.” 

I could hear the hurt in her voice and I wished I was nearby enough to tell her we should have a load of chocolate to take the edge of the hurt. 

“It’s not life if you’ve stopped feeling. At least you know you’re alive. 

If he’s for you, it will be.” 

"I know."
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