And asking for help is not being weak....or ungrateful. You shouldn't carry weight on your own if you can ask for help or pray for ease.
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@reflection-77
And asking for help is not being weak....or ungrateful. You shouldn't carry weight on your own if you can ask for help or pray for ease.
And some days...survival is success
~Reflection -
The mercy of death being visible but permanently unavailable.... Hell
~Reflection -
You may be the prettiest shade of green... But if they like blue that wouldn't matter.
-reflection~
We understand death only after it has placed hands on someone we love...
~Green -
Everything changed the day Amira was born. The world outside was collapsing — bombs, dust, screams, and fear. Yet inside a small room, by the dim light of a single candle, a new life began. While others were running for shelter, I was holding my newborn daughter, trembling, crying, trying to believe that something so pure could still exist in a place like Gaza. I named her Amira, because I wanted her to feel like a child of life —not a child of war.
A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep. She has just turned one. She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her. She doesn’t know the word “loss.” She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there. Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like. And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again. I want to rebuild our home. Not just for the walls — but for her future. For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war. I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear
My name is Saja. I am a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza trying to hold on — to hope, to my family, and to a life that no
A Mother’s Message
To everyone reading this — thank you for listening to our story. Your kindness means more than words. Every share, every message, every donation — it all helps me rebuild not just a house, but a future for Amira. From the heart of Gaza, from a mother learning to hope again — we will live. And I will make sure my daughter grows up in a world that knows love more than war.
It's okay... You dont have to give me the whole storm... Just open the window a little bit and I'll be there...
~Reflection -
It feels almost Iike a whisper of winter itself.. Not sharp, not dramatic... Rather delicate...
~Reflection -
And whatever happened to basic conversation etiquette.....?
~Reflection -
It takes a staggering amount of strength just to be alive....... But it looks so good on you
~Reflection-
~To fix your mess... You've got to do more than confess......
No excuses, no moral lectures... Fixing things takes more than a sorry....
Reflection
~ A good person can still be wrong for you...
Reflection
~Maybe because our hearts were broken in the same places...
Reflection
~Talk to yourself a little nicer today...
Reflection
Be the stranger...
We accept the love we think we deserve...
Unknown
“The longer the silence remains untouched the longer the miscommunication creates its own stories.”
— Christina Strigas, Love & Vodka: A Book of Poetry for Glass Hearts
And we sadly.... don't have all that time that we waste without thought.....