Cursed Soul

The story of a soul that stayed too soft for this world

Photo by Polina on Unsplash

there was a small, trembling bird born with a broken wing, standing at the edge of the sky watching everyone else learn how to fly.

she tried.

god, she tried.

she jumped from cliffs, from rooftops, from every hope she could find, but gravity always remembered her name.

i think i was that bird.

i think i am still falling.

everyone talks about healing like it is sunlight through a window, like it arrives quietly one morning and stays forever.

but my healing was different.

it came with teeth.

it tore through old wounds, dragged forgotten grief into the light, and asked me to survive everything i thought had already ended.

i was never lucky with love. not the kind that stays.

people loved me in pieces, in passing, in moments small enough to fit inside a goodbye.

they loved my laughter.

they loved my kindness.

they loved the way i listened, the way i stayed, the way i made room for their storms.

but when the rain reached me,

they left.

i keep wondering

what is wrong with a soul that everyone visits but nobody calls home?

what is wrong with a heart that keeps choosing people who never choose it back?

i have searched myself for answers.

looked beneath every scar, every trembling memory, every sleepless night.

all i found was a tired child asking the same question over and over again.

why wasn’t i enough?

the question follows me everywhere.

through crowded streets. through birthdays. through ordinary afternoons.

it sits beside me at dinner. it sleeps beside me at night. it wakes before i do.

sometimes i think it knows me better than anyone else.

the curse isn’t loneliness.

the curse is hope.

because no matter how many times the door closes, a part of me still waits for footsteps.

no matter how many people leave, a part of me still sets another place at the table.

no matter how many winters arrive, a part of me still believes spring remembers the way back.

and maybe that’s why it hurts.

because i keep blooming in places that cannot keep me alive.

i keep offering water to people dying of thirst, while my own roots crack beneath the earth.

i keep becoming softer.

and softer.

and softer.

in a world that rewards stone.

some nights, the ache grows so loud it feels like another heartbeat.

i lie awake, staring into the dark, wondering how many more losses one soul can carry.

wondering if i was born beneath a cursed constellation,

one that promised

you will love deeply.

you will lose often.

you will survive both.

and nobody will understand how much surviving costs.

but morning always comes.

the sky always changes.

and somehow, this cursed soul of mine keeps reaching for the light.

even with broken wings.

even with shaking hands.

even after learning how easily love disappears.

it still hopes.

and maybe that is the saddest thing of all.

or maybe,

it is the bravest.

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