Long After the Words Were Written

Put a woman through physical, emotional, psychological, sexual, and financial abuse—and then give her the ability to put her pain into words—and she will not only heal herself, she will leave little pieces of light behind for others to find.

June marks another anniversary of my blog, and I find myself feeling more grateful than celebratory.

My blog didn't begin as a story of survival. It began with poetry. With Hindi couplets scribbled between the demands of everyday life. With a girl who simply loved words and found comfort in arranging emotions into verses. I never set out to build a following or create a community. I was just writing what my heart knew.

Somehow, those words found people.

Over time, life happened. There were beautiful moments, heartbreaking moments, and seasons that changed me forever. My writing evolved, just as I did. And then, quietly, I stopped writing regularly. In fact, it's been more than three years since I truly showed up here the way I once did.

Yet every now and then, a message arrives.

A stranger shares a quote I wrote years ago. Someone tags me in a post. A reader tells me that a poem stayed with them through a difficult season of their life.

And every single time, I pause.

Because the truth is, I've never thought my words were extraordinary. They were simply honest. Written from a place of love, longing, grief, hope, and healing. But these small reminders make me realize that sometimes the words we almost forget are still living quietly in someone else's heart.

That is such a humbling feeling.

If my poetry, stories, or prose have ever made someone feel seen, understood, or a little less alone, then I have received more than I could have ever asked for as a writer.

So today, I'm not celebrating numbers, milestones, or achievements. I'm celebrating connection. I'm celebrating every person who stopped for a moment and found a piece of themselves in my words.

And if, through all these years, I have touched a soul or two, then that is enough.

More than enough.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for remembering. Thank you for carrying these words long after I stopped writing them.

Love,

Saru