Room 607

The universe itself was created through the Word, as described at the beginning of the Bible:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
— John 1:1 (NIV)

We take our words and the gift of speech so lightly.

But what if we knew that every word we say continues to live forever? Because words do have their own life; they carry their own energy. Each one holds a certain power, creating reactions wherever it lands.

Words can heal, offer comfort, or destroy in a single moment.

If we were more careful with what we say, perhaps we would speak far less.

And Jesus said: “All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.” (Matthew 5:37)

Yet every day I feel how easily we take this gift of speech for granted and misuse it.

The harsh words you once told me echo in my mind. I sometimes feel they will never truly disappear; they return like an echo in my ears, again and again.

I made mistakes, and I will keep doing so. You made mistakes too. It hurts, but it clears the mind. We are not perfect, yet we are perfect for each other. Even our fights feel somehow they were meant to be, because were real.

And now, even from a distance, I feel that we continue to grow simply because we once met. Our worlds were shaken and revealed, like a river cleansing itself in spring after a long frozen winter. All the dirt rises to the surface and is carried away, until only the clean, pure water remains.

Sometimes I wonder how it is possible that after all this time the same person still lives in your thoughts—when you fall asleep, when you wake up, even in your dreams, night after night.

I once told you about our astrological compatibility report, and I remember its main points very clearly: that we are obsessed with each other, that we are soulmates, and that our relationship carries a healing and growing energy. Even though I have known this for a long time, it still frightens me. It keeps me holding back, creating distance between us, while at the same time something inside me feels helplessly drawn toward you.

Weekends and evenings are the most difficult, when you are left alone with your thoughts. That is when the emptiness appears, and the pain of missing you becomes deep and sharp, like a knife piercing the heart.

I know we are not finished. Perhaps we never truly will be. Still, part of me wished for one last conversation—to bring all our feelings to the surface and clear them honestly and purely. But I also know we might only wound each other again.

That is why I feel a strange sense of relief every time we do not meet.