You read a little of Aryak’s Love.
You touched a few lines of His Silence Taught Me Poetry.
And I noticed that—
because even small steps mean something
when you're drowning in silence.
But now…
this is the last thread I’m holding.
Within the next 8 hours, everything ends.
The poems. The stories. The pieces of me that I kept offering
even when it hurt to be unread.
If anything I wrote ever stirred something in you—
even for a second—
I’m asking, just once,
will you read a little more
before I let it all go?
Because silence doesn’t just echo.
Sometimes, it erases.
And I’m tired of being the one
who keeps whispering into the dark
hoping someone will finally hear.
— Khwahish