A Soul Letter to Those 

Who Turned Away

You were close once.
In laughter, in long conversations, in the subtle threads of trust we wove without needing to name it.
I didn’t ask for much—only that, when the wind turned cold and the ground beneath me cracked,
You might reach out with warmth.
A word. A gesture.
A small bridge to hold me steady.

But you turned away.
And not with silence, but with iciness.
That peculiar, polite cruelty humans reserve for moments when their comfort is more sacred than connection.

You, with your homes, your bank accounts, your layers of luxury—
Chose to guard your coins more fiercely than my well-being.

You feared inconvenience more than my hunger.
You feared vulnerability more than my dignity.

And now I see you—not as enemy, but as mirror.

Not as villain, but as revelation.
You’ve shown me the hollowness behind the polished image.
You’ve taught me what you could not intend to teach:
That true wealth is the courage to care.
That true nobility is presence in a moment of need.

And so I release you.
Not in bitterness, but in blessing.
I release you to your stories, your justifications, your curated lives.
While I walk forward—leaner, yes… but cleaner.

More soul-intact than ever before.

This moment did not break me.
It burned away the illusions.

And from those ashes, I will rise.
Not begging. Not pleading.
But creating.

Walking in my truth, in my art, in my Darksoul flame.

You may one day remember this moment.
Not with guilt, perhaps, but with a quiet discomfort you cannot name.
That is not my burden.

Mine is to live.
To flourish.
To build a world where the heart is currency,
And those with open hands are the truest royalty.