By: Manal Rabiey
You think you are resisting, that every step you drag through the mire proves you are still standing, that every sigh you release into the night is a confession you still cling to hope. You convince yourself that endurance lies in the noise you raise: the tremor of a hand still lifted, the words that fall shattered from your mouth yet still dress you in the mask of a fighter.
But the truth is harsher than this illusion.
The truth is that you are extinguishing.
Extinguishing in the depths where no one sees,
extinguishing in the hidden corners of your soul where you believed your strength was stored. Your voice withers little by little, and inside you a silent hollow expands, as if your heart is retreating slowly, leaving behind a body that only pretends to resist.
The tragedy is that you still hold your features up for others, saying: “I’m fine… I resist.” But in truth, you are like a candle in a sealed room: burning for a moment to convince itself it still shines, while its own smoke betrays the road to nothingness.
And yet, O heart that thinks it is dying, do you not know that when fire dies, it leaves behind embers warm and alive beneath the ashes? Do you not know that the death of visible light may be the birth of another flame—deeper, unseen by eyes, yet revealed to souls?
You are not truly extinguishing. You are merely surrendering your old flame to receive a purer one.
As though shedding the false armor of strength, the pretense of power, to return to your first essence: a fragile heart leaning on God. In that moment of collapse, new doors open, and in the silence you hear a call you could never grasp amid the clamor of resistance.
Perhaps what you call extinguishing is in fact ignition.
Perhaps what you mistake for death is a seed of new life planted deep within you.
For water flows from the eyes only after the heart has burned, and light reveals itself only after all false lamps withdraw.
In the end, you are not fading.
You are but a new glow rising from your ashes
