The door to my past is finally locked from the inside. In the quiet resilience of my new life, I found this core truth. This transition is more than just a change of scenery. It is a profound internal architecture for the healing soul. This closing of the door helps me process the beauty of a fresh start. As a highly sensitive person, I now cherish my inner Malachite peace. It turns old tectonic sorrows into a stable, quiet joy. Within these transformative intervals, the spirit finally finds its true rhythm. We move from the shadows of yesterday to the clarity of today. The modern world often fears the act of leaving things behind. However, I choose the quiet elegance of my own evolution. This path is a mineral-rich space for our authentic growth. By walking away, we reclaim our radiant, enduring strength.

The Door to the past is finally closed.

Vrata

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Hvala pjesmi koju sam jednom napisala dok su mi se ruke tresle, a srce pokušavalo oprostiti ono što nikada nije trebalo preživjeti.
Bilo ti je hladno jer sam se ja smrzavala. Bila si tiha jer sam bila iscrpljena. Govorila si o prošlosti jer je sadašnjost bila previše bolna da bih u njoj ostala.
Pomogla si mi da shvatim da je ljubav već napustila sobu mnogo prije mene.
I dok sam još pokušavala ostati zbog djece, zbog obećanja, zbog straha, ti si me već učila kako napustiti pakao, a da ne postanem okrutna.
Otišla sam. Slomila sam ono što me je slamalo. Tri godine kasnije, pišem toplijim rukama. Više ne molim riječi da me vole. Ljubav sada ostaje. Ljubav sada štiti. Ljubav sada bira mene.
Hvala ti, moja prva pjesmo. Nisi bila kraj. Bila si vrata. I ja sam prošla kroz njih.

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La Porte

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Merci au poème que j’ai écrit un jour alors que mes mains tremblaient, et que mon cœur essayait de pardonner ce qui n’aurait jamais dû être vécu.
Tu avais froid parce que je gelais. Tu étais silencieux parce que j’étais épuisée. Tu parlais du passé car le présent était trop douloureux pour y rester.
Tu m’as aidée à comprendre que l’amour avait déjà quitté la pièce bien avant moi.
Et alors que j’essayais encore de rester pour les enfants, par peur, tu m’apprenais déjà comment quitter l’enfer sans devenir cruelle.
Je suis partie. J’ai brisé ce qui me brisait. Trois ans plus tard, j’écris avec des mains plus chaudes. L’amour reste maintenant. L’amour protège maintenant. L’amour me choisit maintenant.
Merci, mon premier poème. Tu n’étais pas la fin. Tu étais la porte. Et je l’ai franchie.

The Door

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Thank you to the poem I once wrote while my hands were trembling, and my heart was trying to forgive what should never have been survived.
You were cold because I was freezing. You were silent because I was exhausted. You spoke of the past because the present was too painful to stay in.
You helped me realize that love had already left the room long before me.
And while I was still trying to stay for the children, out of fear, you were already teaching me how to leave hell without becoming cruel.
I left. I broke what was breaking me. Three years later, I write with warmer hands. Love now stays. Love now protects. Love now chooses me.
Thank you, my first poem. You were not the end. You were the door. And I walked through it.
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