LAYLA
~
There was a poem I used to read back while I was younger.
A poem about a girl who lost everything. She had no family, no friends, no home—nothing to hold on to. And yet, despite having nothing left, she still didn't want to die. I never understood why then. It made no sense to me. Why would someone who had lost so much choose to keep going? She was far more unfortunate than I ever was, and yet she held on. I used to wonder why she didn't just end it all. What was the point of living when there was nothing left to live for?
But now, I understand.
The only thing she had left was herself, and she couldn't afford to lose that. Because once she did—once she gave up—then she would have truly lost everything. And maybe, just maybe, that sliver of self, that tiny ember of existence, was worth holding on to.
