It’s currently 10:19 p.m.

I sit here under the rain, eyes filled with tears, a heart overwhelmed with emotions, a mouth whispering to its Lord, and a soul that’s tired.

I sit at the edge of the wall, where the roof only slightly shields me from the rain. My hijab and abaya are soaked, dampened by its gentle touch.

My skin is cold, freezing like ice in a refrigerator but what’s inside me is burning.

It can’t take it anymore. So I cry.

Eyes clouded with tears.

Mouth repeating, “Ya Rabb… Ya Rabb…”

I say I’m strong… but am I really?

I hold in my emotions like a wall blocking every feeling from showing. I convince myself I can handle it all, even when I know I lied to myself.

But tonight, I let it out.

All of it.

I’m not strong.

I'm far weaker than I thought.

And for once… I don’t care.

Because holding it all in was never the answer.

We lie to ourselves, saying “I’m fine” when we’re not.

We scroll endlessly, trying to numb the pain, covering invisible scars.

But today, I tell myself this:

I’ll let it out but only to my Lord.

I won’t feel shy in front of Him. I’ll cry loud, deep into the night, because I know He understands every pain, no matter how small.

He hears. He sees. He knows.

So I wrote this to you, human:

Cry if you need to.

Write if you need to.

Break down if you need to.

Because it’s all part of the journey.

A messy, raw, beautiful journey.