Home

There are those of us who never get bored living inside —

Inside a home,

inside a silence,

inside the layered walls of our own minds.

My studio is not just a room with felt and fabric scattered across the table.

It is a sanctuary.

A gentle shelter that holds my inside world —

which holds another inside world —

until, one day,

I arrive at the Light of Light.

نورالنور

Here, I do not need noise or applause.

The hum of the sewing thread,

the soft resistance of wool,

the shimmer of silk beneath my hands —

they are enough.

They whisper to me:

You are safe here.

You are seen here.

You are becoming.

There are days when the world outside feels too jagged, too vast, too loud.

But in this shelter, I collect the pieces of myself.

I arrange them gently —

like a mosaic of quiet joys, soft disappointments, forgotten dreams.

Inside the inside,

I do not escape.

I return.

In the shelter of this sanctuary, I gently rebuild myself anew.