All Our Sorrows

For the one for whom I will bear every sorrow, every pain, every injustice—willingly. For the one I cannot fully release, yet desperately cling to for just a fleeting moment of their day. For the one I have loved endlessly, yet am losing piece by piece. For the one I would lay down my life for, the one who is my beginning and my end. For the one I keep meeting at different times of my life and fall in love with every version of them. For the one who inhabits my every thought. For the one who taught me how to love, but not how to live without them. For the one I keep alive in my writing.

My heart—once caged in my ribs, now cut free—

offered to you in a trembling jar.

I give it to you whole, unguarded, alive,

but you turn away,

disdain lingering in the spaces

where love should have been.

Still, I try.

But it is never enough.

You do not cradle it;

you prod it,

searching for its cracks as if they justify our distance.

How do I make you see?

I would trade my breath for your comfort,

sell my hair, my eyes, my everything.

Anything, everything—

if it would make you stay.

But still, you find no value in what I offer.

Still, you remain unmoved,

dismissing my blood as if it were paint,

spilled to stir chaos.

I remember the boy you were,

though only two years have passed.

You were imperfectly perfect,

and you knew how to love—

tender and patient,

watering a flower so it might bloom,

not plucking it for fleeting joy.

But that boy is gone now.

Your heart, once warm,

is locked away,

a distant shore I can no longer reach.

Why do I linger in this wasteland?

Why can’t I accept

that I am not the one you want?

Maybe because I know you have the capacity to love inside you,

I have seen it.

I bleed where I carved myself open for you,

my hands raw from clinging to a love

that slips through my grasp.

And still, you look at me,

and see something small,

something lacking,

something unworthy.

I know I have flaws but does that mean I'm not worth your love?

I am exhausted.

Each night, my tears soak the silence,

my chest heaving with grief.

What curse is this,

to love someone who does want to understand my heart?

Why am I too weak to let go,

too stubborn to admit the truth?

I wish for the release of dreams,

to find the boy you once were—

the one who saw me,

with all my flaws,

and chose me anyway.

But I know he is gone.

And no matter how fiercely my heart pleads,

you will not return.

Your mind is made.

You see me only through a lens of faults,

twisting my words into something unkind,

something I never meant.

How do I make you see I don’t care about winning or losing anything,

I just wanted to stay.

But with who?

No one wants me,

I wish I was dead.

And yet, I wait—

for the final blow,

the last strike that will shatter me.

For I lack the strength to walk away on my own.

Each step feels heavier than the last.

I carry this jar, clutching it to my chest to keep it warm,

my heart broken and unwanted,

through a world that grows colder by the day.

I wish I could go to sleep and meet the boy who loved me,

knew I wasn’t perfect but loved the imperfections that made me me.

Pointed me my flaws gently but didn't try to hurt me.

Perhaps I will only meet him in my dreams now,

when love meant acceptance and patience.

I don’t blame him—he just changed and grew.

My heart didn’t.

I wish he had known my real heart,

but I know he doesn’t see because he doesn’t want to see.

And you can’t convince someone who’s made up his mind,

trying to look for ways to prove he’s right.

I should have known my small dose of happiness wouldn’t last.

How many more stabs are left in me before it kills me?

Because I couldn’t leave on my own,

thus I was waiting for the last few stabs to take me away naturally.

The world is slipping slowly from my grasp,

my dreams getting more distant every day.

And when all’s said and done,

everyone will find their happiness and move forward.

And I will find my heart in the jar, kept intact as it was—

because no one had need of it.

And with tears in my eyes, I’ll start walking,

holding the jar close to my chest.

Everyone is celebrating, and I’m alone like always,

walking around, lost.

I know I was born in a way that I think differently.

I don’t react the same as people.

It is a fault, I admit, but I have always been willing to learn

and be passionate about the things I like.

I can’t change the way I was born.

I can’t become the mold of just anyone else.

I can’t fit myself in a box when I was born outside of it.

And all my life, I knew love overcomes everything.

It makes you want to learn and grow, and so much more.

And while you can always grow,

you can’t change who you are or your soul—

nor should you,

because love is the only thing that makes every person feel lovable, feel enough.

You will always be enough in the eyes of those that love you,

even when you have a long way to go.

Love is patience.

It is seeing the cracks

and loving them anyway.

But you do not want love.

You want certainty,

a steady hand,

a foundation unshaken.

And I—

wild and untamed—

am not that.

I wish you had told me sooner.

Instead, you dissect me,

analyzing my words,

searching for reasons to turn away.

I am not used to love feeling like a courtroom,

a battlefield where my heart stands trial.

But I cannot blame you.

It is my love that chains me here,

that offers itself unyielding,

even as it is rejected.

I remember the small moments,

your teasing, your smile.

When I said tell me your favorite things, I will do them all for you,

you stopped me,

whispering, Do what makes you happiest—

you are my favorite.

Do all things for me you want that makes you happy too.

And I had tears in my eyes,

Because that is the most beautiful, loving line I'd ever heard.

But even then, I would've done for you what made you happy,

But it made my heart smile that you said that.

Now, in the stillness of my room,

tears blur my vision.

How long can I knock on doors on this bitter freezing winter night,

doors that will not open for me?

How long can I stay in the arms that doesn't want to hold me?

You wanted safe lands,

and I could have given you those.

But I could have also followed you to the cliffs,

stood with you on the edge,

and pulled you back if you fell.

I would have given my all—

not because you asked,

but because I loved you.

I would always pull you up.

You'd never fall because I would always catch your hand.

But love cannot thrive

where it is unwelcome.

I see now that I am not what you want.

And yet, my stubborn heart refuses to let go,

bleeding, trembling, holding on.

I cannot give you what you seek.

You are searching for traits,

while I am searching for love.

I do not pick flowers for their beauty.

I tend to the ones I love,

watering them until they bloom.

But you,

you will find someone who fits your mold,

someone who ticks every box.

And maybe she will love you,

but never as fiercely as I do.

Because she won't know this grief

That I have survived and still am here holding your hand.

For my love is untamed.

It grows in the cracks,

survives the storms,

and would have carried us through anything—

if only you had let it.

I lie in bed, tears stream endlessly, soaking my pillows,

a quiet storm drenching the fabric of my restless nights.

I realize I must learn the solitude of walking the woods alone,

to lie on the grass with no hand to hold.

Find where you belong—

cherish what matters, hold it close,

and stay true to that.

Let others choose their own paths,

their own joys,

even if it tears you apart.

And yet, I hate myself—

not for loving deeply, but for clinging to the fleeting glow,

for refusing to accept

that being loved doesn’t promise being loved forever.

When someone doesn’t want you,

they will always find the cracks,

a thousand faults,

a thousand reasons to turn away.

They’ll read your every word like a script,

searching for flaws in the performance.

But woe to the one who loves despite it all,

to the soul that stays,

enduring every storm and shadow

just to remain within reach.

No one has struck me, yet I feel beaten.

The ache of the heart,

sharp as a blade against my ribs—

it’s as real as any wound.

Breath catches in my chest,

so painful, each inhale like grasping thorns.

I limp through the house,

clutching my chest as if holding shattered pieces together.

Words fail me,

my voice locked in the prison of my throat,

but my heart screams,

its cries echoing silently in the void.

I love blindly, and

all it takes is one glimmer, one spark of hope,

to hold them near,

to cling despite the abyss.

It all depends on the heart—

what it desires within,

it seeks without.

And it breaks my own,

shatters it like glass,

to know I am not what you desire.

When will I finally accept the truth?

My hands bleed, yet they grip tighter still,

even as they tremble,

even as the grasp tears me apart.

So I still willingly walk over shattered glass and wound myself,

Just to reach you, to hold your hand for a few seconds more before you take it away.

Why is the world like this,

where expectations pile high,

yet love runs thin,

as if hearts forget

that true love fulfills all hopes and more,

always bending, shifting, surviving,

unless crushed beneath our own hands.

Expectations stand rigid,

a line drawn in the sand—

met or unmet, nothing in between.

But surely love is more,

a force that accepts you as you are,

for there is nothing more sacred,

nothing more extraordinary,

than the essence of you.

Love doesn’t see the crown or the rags;

it lifts you, makes you feel royal,

and whispers: You are enough.

And everyone—

everyone—

deserves love.

I know you don’t care for me much,

as you remind me of it again and again,

your words a quiet refrain.

Still, I’m a fool,

lingering in your shadow,

clinging to every fleeting moment,

just to hear your voice,

to sit beside you,

as if each second might be the last we share on this earth.

Perhaps you’ll find joy with another,

someone of your choosing.

And maybe, in your eyes,

they will love you more.

But they won’t love you like I do.

Perhaps it isn’t written in your fate

to know a love like mine,

a love that endures sickness and health,

riches or ruin,

even your disdain.

Not because you expect it of me,

but because my heart knows no other way.

Yes, it must be peaceful and comfortable to find someone who likes all you like.

But in my eyes, there’s something rare,

something precious,

in someone learning something for your joy,

discovering the unfamiliar,

just to bring a smile to your face.

It means more than the ease

of shared tastes and interests.

It’s a kind of devotion

that transforms the mundane into magic.

It may not be the best but it would be done from love.

I am so envious of all those who get to marry the ones they love.

It must be heavenly to transcend all obstacles and reach the shore,

Knowing nothing can separate you anymore.

And your eyes can say to each other:

It was insanely difficult, but we made it.

We are home.

For isn’t it easy to love when life is kind?

But love that survives ruin and storms,

love that stands tall through shattering pain—

that love is a force unmatched,

a force unyielding.

Yet, who will hear these words?

They fall like echoes in an empty room,

lost to the silence.

I speak only to myself,

tears tracing paths down my cheeks,

the nights so quiet,

the ceiling a mute witness to my sorrow.

It hurts—

this ache in my chest,

each breath a heavy burden.

Why is life like this?

When will happiness arrive?

I’ve changed, grown,

seen my flaws in sharper focus.

But no one grants me the grace to grow;

they hold the past like a mirror,

reflecting only my mistakes.

How can one learn

when they are being chained to what they once were?

What will it take to please you?

Can I ever bring you joy?

Maybe I should silence this stubborn heart of mine,

teach it that love cannot thrive alone,

that love must also choose you back.

Otherwise, I’m only walking on shattered glass,

each step bleeding for someone

who doesn’t even turn to look.

I am so tired,

so lonely.

For a moment, I knew bliss—

a fragile, fleeting dream.

But it was too good to last;

nothing beautiful ever does.

I am still trying to recover from the grief I experienced for a year,

But I know you are impatient.

I am trying to reassure you I mean what I say as much as I can,

But my mind is collapsing, my body is aching, my soul just wants to be dead.

I'm sorry I'm fighting for my life so I couldn't reassure you enough.

Will I ever find the courage to say:

I know I’m not what you want.

Though I love you with everything I am,

So even as I'm dying inside, I want you to find joy—

even if it’s not with me.

Forgive me for holding on so tightly.

I will learn to seek happiness within myself,

and I will let you go,

set you free.

I still remember the time we promised each other

The world only has you and I,

And nothing will come between us.

I know now that promise is dead but I'm glad,

In the circle where we both stood and vowed that,

I'm the last one still standing in it.

I'll be the last person to walk away

And hold on till the end, keeping my end of the vow.

Remember one of our favorite songs?

Tagore's words for love that I must live through:

You are all my soul wants,

but if you cannot find happiness with me,

then go—

go where your heart is at peace.

Let all our sorrows be mine.

© 2025 Inaba Tarek