The Center That Was Never Mine

"The wound is the place where the Light enters you." - Rumi

This isn't a story about love in the way people usually mean it.

It's not about a grand romance, or the kind that ends in fireworks or heartbreak. It's about a quieter kind of love-the kind that settles deep inside you and stays, long after the people who lit it have gone. It doesn't demand anything. It just lives on in silence. In the pages of old books. In half-remembered voices. In the things they once loved-and now you do too, simply because they did.

For me, that thing was Rumi.

I never tried to understand his poetry, not really. Most of the time, I still don't. But his words became a way back to them. A way to stay close to what I'd lost. A thread I could hold when there was nothing else left to hold onto.

This book is a collection of moments. Quiet, drifting thoughts. Half-formed confessions I never said out loud. It doesn't follow a timeline. It doesn't follow structure. Like love, it just moves the way it wants to. Wandering, circling, returning.

Maybe somewhere in these pages, you'll find something that echoes the way your heart once broke open. Maybe you've loved like this too.