Have you ever felt the weight of praying so hard for everything to go right, only to watch it all fall apart anyway? The ache of not feeling loved enough to wonder why the world seems happier without you in it? Falling for people you’ll never believe you’re good enough for, afraid to love too deeply or to be loved at all? You give everything you have—your heart, your time, your effort—only for the world to dismiss it, to label you a failure, as if your struggle means nothing. And even when you never mean to hurt anyone, the chaos within you spills out, breaking things and leaving you hating the very person you’ve become

You wait, clinging to the fragile hope that someone might break you free from this curse, but deep down, you know the truth—there’s no savior coming. It’s only you, alone, who must pull yourself out of this endless hell. You keep pushing forward, working harder than anyone sees, harder than anyone cares to acknowledge, with no hand to hold, no shoulder to lean on—not even from the ones who were supposed to love you the most.

The nights feel heavier than the days, filled with a silence that screams louder than any crowd ever could. You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering when it all became so suffocating. The walls of your room feel more like a cage, and the thoughts swirling in your head are the bars. You’ve tried to fight them, tried to convince yourself that things will get better, but the weight of loneliness drags you down like an anchor tied to your soul.

Still, there’s a flicker of defiance in you, a stubborn spark refusing to die. You tell yourself it’s not the end—not yet. You’ve seen storms before, haven’t you? This is just another one, you say, though the words sound hollow. But every storm passes eventually, right? That’s what they all say, even if you’re not sure you believe it.

Each morning you rise, not because you want to, but because giving up isn’t an option. There’s work to be done, dreams that haven’t entirely faded, a life that still needs living—even if no one seems to notice or care. You’ll carry the weight alone, if you have to. You’ll build a new kind of strength from the rubble of your shattered self, even if no one ever says, ‘I’m proud of you.’

Because maybe, just maybe, someday you’ll be enough for yourself. And maybe, that’s all that ever mattered.

But then, just when the world felt at its darkest, God seemed to pause, as if finally hearing the unspoken agony you carried for so long. It was as though He had decided, in a rare moment of mercy, to send someone—a knight in armor, though his armor wasn’t shining. It was imperfect, battered, and real, just like you. This person eNtered your life without warning, not to fix you, but to remind you that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t meant to face this world alone.

At first, you resisted. You told yourself it was a cruel joke, that no one truly stays. But he did. He was relentless, like a magnet, always drawn back to you no matter how much you tried to push him away. He showed up when you didn’t ask him to, stayed even when you told him to leave, and somehow managed to see through the fortress you’d built around yourself.

And God, how you tried to push him away. You threw words like daggers, let silence linger like a void, and wrapped yourself tighter in your shame and fear. After all, wasn’t this the same story you’d lived before? Anyone who got too close to you was bound to get hurt. You knew that. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from being drawn to him. It wasn’t just his words or the way he looked at you—it was the way he listened. The way his presence felt like a balm on the wounds you’d long stopped acknowledging.

He became the shoulder you never had, the one you’d convinced yourself you didn’t need. In your hardest moments, when the weight of your world was too much, he was there. He didn’t try to carry it for you; he simply stood beside you, steady and unwavering, as if saying, ‘I know it hurts, but I’m not going anywhere.’ And for the first time, you believed it.

But belief didn’t erase your fear. It lingered, a constant whisper in the back of your mind. What if you hurt him? What if you break him, too, just like everything else you’ve touched? You wanted to warn him, to tell him to run while he still could. Yet every time you tried, he stayed, his presence as constant as the rising sun.

And so, you began to let him in. Slowly, cautiously, as if testing the water. Piece by piece, you unraveled the parts of yourself you’d kept hidden for so long. You showed him the scars, the cracks, the shadows you were sure would scare him away. But instead of recoiling, he stayed. He didn’t flinch; he didn’t turn away. Instead, he held you tighter, as if silently promising, ‘Even this is okay. Even this doesn’t make you unlovable.’

And in those moments, for the first time, you dared to hope. Maybe the curse wasn’t permanent. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as broken as you thought.