Where the Silence Starts to Dream (1/2)

[[[[[Part1]]]]]

 

Sometimes, it’s not what is light that learns to fly –

but what finally lets go.

 

A piece of my story.

A part of my noise.

And the light that taught me how to dream again.

 

Trapped.

Trapped by lies, by manipulation,

trapped in believing in the good within everyone.

Naive, maybe —

but real.

 

I believed in warmth.

In love.

In safety.

In false hopes.

And still, it was never enough.

 

Perhaps it wasn’t always darkness in people,

not always bad intention —

but they were there.

They screamed inside my head,

like echoes in the rain,

echoes that never end.

 

I live with ADHD.

It’s not a disease, not a weakness.

It’s my superpower.

It lets me feel what others feel,

understand fast, think ahead,

and find solutions where others have already given up.

But it’s loud.

Sometimes confusing.

Sometimes simply there.

 

My mind is never quiet.

I can’t just lie down and fall asleep.

It keeps thinking, sorting, asking.

It longs for order, for logic, for understanding.

It’s endlessly curious —

it wants to know, to learn, to discover.

And it longs to be understood.

 

My heart runs beside it —

feeling every longing, every pain, every spark of hope.

 

My mum was my peace.

My best friend.

She knew me like no one else.

When everything became too loud,

she was the light I could return to,

the one that held me when I lost my way,

that gave me warmth and love so I could dream again,

so I could fly again.

 

In 2018, cancer stole her from me.

Suddenly. Without warning.

She was only 59.

So much love, so many dreams.

And then… gone.

 

But she’s still here —

deep inside my heart.

She taught me to be kind,

to see the beauty in small things:

the wind moving through a meadow,

the rustle of leaves,

the glitter of morning dew on a flower.

I perceive the world differently.

I see the calm colors of a sunset,

I feel the day whisper goodnight

as the last ray touches the horizon.

 

Thank you, Mum.

Done