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Untitled Where everyone eventually leaves Geznah.S | The Silence Reader Since I was little, I noticed something.

Something that I wasn't taught, but that life showed me.

It's that everyone eventually leaves.

Some gently, others without warning. Sometimes with tears, sometimes with silences louder than screams. But in the end, they all leave. And it's just me. Just me.

My mother often told me: "One day, I will no longer be here. How will you manage?"

And she wasn't just talking about herself. It was deeper than that.

It was as if she was preparing me for the truth that few people dare to tell their children: you will have to learn to live without others.

Because even those who love you, even those who look you in the eyes and tell you that they will never leave… eventually leave.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader So I grew up with this idea planted in me like a cold seed.

And every time someone approached me, I felt that same fear, that same automatic thought: how long before you leave, too?

And yet, despite everything, I tried. I let people in. I loved. I gave. I believed.

Because even when you know it will hurt, there are looks that make you forget the scars.

But one day, there was someone.

Someone I thought was different

He was nothing extraordinary at first. But he had this way of speaking that made you want to stay, this light in his eyes that said: I really see you.

So I told myself: maybe this time, it's different. Maybe it's not like the others.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader I lowered my guard. Slowly. Gently. I opened the door.

And I believed. Yes, I believed.

Even with all my wounds, all my doubts, I believed.

But history repeats itself, always.

He started to drift away. A little each day.

One less message. A glance elsewhere. Words that were losing their warmth.

And I watched this in silence, my heart in my throat, the past echoing in my ears: You see? You knew it. it's not just him who was leaving, it's the whole past that was coming back.

I wanted to run after him. To hold him back. To shout at him to stay.

But I didn't do it. Because when you care about someone, you don't want him to leave. But if someone wants to leave, you can't hold him back.

You can't become someone's burden, even if your heart bleeds.

Sometimes, you have to sacrifice your own heart...

and let him go, if he thinks that's what makes him happy.

So I let go.

I sacrificed my heart, once again.

And I told myself what I always tell myself: You were born to learn to lose without losing yourself.

And that is my strength.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader People leave. It's true.

But I stay.

Not to beg. Not to cry.

But to keep walking.

Even alone.

Even broken.

Because by seeing others leave, I learned to stay for myself.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader

.and you know what?

Before all that... I was someone very closed off.

Not shy, not withdrawn, no. Closed. Closed like a door that isn't forced. Like a chest without a key.

I didn't open up easily. I didn't let people in. Not because I thought I was better, nor because I despised the world.

But because I believed that if I got too close, I would end up hurting.

And I didn't want that.

I distanced myself to avoid hurting.

I burned bridges before they were even built.

I fled from connections, not because I hated them, but because I feared them.

Because when you know what it is to lose someone, you also know that every attachment is a ticking time bomb.

And I wanted to avoid the damage.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader I was always afraid of hurting others, more than hurting myself.

But those around me did not have that fear.

They never hesitated to hurt me, to betray me, to leave without a word.

So in the end, I came to believe that my only real protection... was isolation.

I built myself a little invisible fortress.

No one entered it.

I told myself it was simpler. Cleaner.

No connection, no loss. No loss, no pain.

But... there was that day.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader I couldn't say what changed.

Maybe I was tired of being alone.

Or maybe I needed proof that the world wasn't just silence and departures.

So I decided to try.

To push myself a little.

To push myself a little.

To take the first step.

I looked up. I started to speak. A little.

No big conversations. No declarations. Just... simple words.

A hello. A glance. A "how are you?".

And that day, I started to tell.

I said, softly, that maybe the problem was me.

That sometimes I distance myself from people not because I don't love them...

But because I love them too much to risk hurting them. Geznah.S | The Silence Reader And I understood that this is sometimes the mistake we make when we are too sensitive.

We believe we are a danger.

Whereas in reality, we are just a heart too full, that doesn't know where to pour all that it contains.

I didn't know how to connect with others. But I tried.

And that "trying" was already a miracle for me.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader

.From childhood to adulthood

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader There are memories that remain like invisible scars.

I was five years old.

And I already knew that words hurt more than any blow.

My father didn't understand it. Not right away.

Sometimes, when I did something wrong, every time he scolded me, when he spoke loudly he raised his voice.

And I couldn't stand that.

I would take a stick, I would hand it to him, and I would say: "please punish me or hit me, but don't talk to me like that."

I was very small.

But I already knew that words, especially those that come from someone you love, leave wounds that do not heal easily.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader A slap, a whip, it burns, it hurts, it makes you cry.

But then, you eat ice cream, you watch a cartoon, and the pain recedes.

You forget a little.

But a sentence?

A cruel sentence?

A word said with disgust, or with anger, or worse... with disappointment?

That, that doesn't go away.

It plays back in your head for years.

You carry it, even when you smile.

Even when everything seems to be going well.

You still hear it.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader My father once said, almost as a joke: “This little one, she can't stand the words.”

He said it as a statement, without thinking too much.

But he was right.

And what he didn't know is that it wasn't a weakness. It was my way of loving.

When I love, I give everything. So every word touches me like a knife.

And the more I grew, the more this sensitivity became a filter.

I pay attention to everything I say.

I reread my messages five times. I write, I erase, I rewrite.

I think about how the person will receive my words. If it can hurt. If it can weigh.

I have always been more afraid of hurting others than of being hurt.

And sometimes, I have forgotten myself.

But the world...

The world doesn't think like that.

People speak without looking where their words fall.

They don't wonder if their sentence will break you into a thousand pieces.

They throw out what they think, what they feel, without filter, without pause.

And what if you hurt? It will be your problem.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader And when you pay attention to them, they take it as a weakness.

They think you are fragile.

But what they don’t know… is that if you are still here, after all you have heard, after everything you have retained…

it’s that you are stronger than they imagine.

And maybe all of this was never really a book.

Not a novel, not a structured story with neatly arranged chapters.

Not a story where you turn the pages waiting for the happy ending.

No.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader

It was just a little story.

A story that began long before the clear memories.

Maybe even since childhood.

Since that blurry moment when I understood that people leave.

Since that look from a parent, since a word that cut deeper than a whip.

Since that solitude that never screamed but was there, always there.

This book has no chapters.

Because every time I thought a chapter was ending, something came back.

A memory. A pain. A repetition.

This book has no title either.

Because it changes all the time.

Because I change all the time.

It’s just a little story.

A true story.

That does not ask to be understood, but to be felt.

And if you have read it this far, it may be because a part of you has also lived without a chapter.

Geznah.S | The Silence Reader