DIARY BETWEEN WORLDS

There were three of us: me, my brother, and my sister.

Sometimes my mother would come to us, open her arms and say, “You are my little bunnies. I love you so much.”

It didn’t happen every day, but it was enough to stay with me for the rest of my life.

I remember that in the evening she would read books to us. They were fairy tales that seemed ordinary at the time. But now I understand that they were part of that same love.

I still remember many lines, sometimes even by heart. And every time I remember them now, the same feeling rises inside me. It is warm, calm, and real.

Maybe it was then, when I was little, that this inner core formed within me. It came not from words or explanations, but from feelings.

Love is not something complicated.

Love is when someone holds you and calls you their own. When you feel that you are not alone.

This is probably the most important thing I understand now, later in my life: love is something we need not only to receive, but also to pass on.