Author: Mustafa Lutfi al-Manfaluti

They say spring is the season of love, a time when emotions blaze, souls find comfort in one another, hearts draw closer, and gardens fill with birds singing on blooming branches and people strolling among the trees. But I do not believe any of this. For me, the most beautiful hours are those in which I am alone with myself, confiding in it my worries and sorrows, shedding tears that cool the burning ache rising in my chest.
The strangest thing I find about myself is that I cry over nothing, grieve for no reason, and feel within me a burden of worries and sorrows whose source I do not know. At times I imagine that a touch of madness has crept into my mind, increasing my fear and anxiety.
Those who know the causes of their pain and sorrow are not truly miserable, for they live with hope and survive by expectation. But I am unhappy because I know of no cure to apply nor a day of recovery to look forward to.