I once believed that love was an eternal sun, casting its warm glow

upon my life. By the way his name was Mike, his name etched in my

heart, stood as the pillar supporting my dreams. Our love blossomed like

a field of flowers, each petal a memory waiting to be written.

The wedding plans unfolded like a romantic movie set in Paris—the

Eiffel Tower as our backdrop, promises whispered under moonlit skies.

But then, like a cosmic collision, reality shattered my bliss. Mike’s true

colours emerged, and the sun dimmed.

He cheated, leaving me reeling from the impact it was like an atomic

bomb detonating within my soul. The wedding plans lay in ruins, and I

wondered where the sun truly ended .It wasn’t just an heartbreak; it was a

calculated destruction. He left me penniless with no money in my name,

tarnished my reputation with my own family, and stood unchallenged

because of his wealth and power. I saw myself reduced to a street dwelling

vagabond, forgotten and forsaken .Desperation led me to drugs, and

addiction became my only solace

One fateful day, as I wandered at the streets, I glimpsed Mike—now

living a picture of a perfect life with his wife playing a happy family . His

eyes met mine, and he sneered, “Look at the poverty I once chose.” The

weight of his words threatened to crush me. But I walked away.

I walked in the street thinking ,for five long years, I was in love with

a monster, it oblivious that it was darkness that consumed our love. Flies

buzzed around me, drawn to the smell of my soul. Today, fate dealt its

cruel hand—I encountered my sister, her eyes wide open with disbelief.

She never knew my life’s was a twisted path. You know secrets kept

hidden, and wounds festering.

She took me in her home, her tears was my wounded spirit. In her

home, I tried to rebuild my life, but the smell of cocaine was in my

nose, it was a haunting reminder of my past. The streets, will be alway.

be my refuge , because it held my only fate—a maze of despair where

redemption seemed impossible.

For the past five months, I’ve been living on the streets. With no

food ,cloths or a roof of my own it was just air and wind that was my

only roof. As December approaches, the holiday season feels bittersweet.

While most people anticipate Christmas and New Year’s celebrations,

for me, it’s was a stark reminder of my situation.

My face, weathered and unwashed, it was a resembles of hot oil

sizzling in a pan. The lack of hygiene is a constant struggle. Imagine

enduring five months without a proper bath—each day a battle against

grime and despair. Sometimes life can be miserable and hurting.

One day, my sister and my two friends came looking for me. Their

concern was evident, but shame, stress, and brokenness held me back.

I couldn’t face them, knowing how far I’d fallen. I found myself in a

desperate situation, forced to hide from the world. Posters bearing my

face adorned every corner, a constant reminder of my plight. Hunger

gnawed at me relentlessly, and the cold became my unwelcome

companion—it clung to me like a tattered blanket.

My feet, cracked and weathered, bore the weight of my struggles.

Each step felt like walking on shards of glass. My body, battered and

bruised, it was like a resembled of someone who electrocuted by life’s

harsh currents.Sometimes I would ask for money in the street to

survive.There was a women who was selling cup cakes and I would help

her sell and she would give me what have left.

And then there was the stench—the unmistakable despair. It clung

was a to my skin, a testament to my dire circumstances. My sustenance?

Marijuana and cocaine— were the the only things that kept me going.

Survival knows no morality; sometimes, I resorted to stealing from street

vendors just to stay alive.

In the shadows, I learned that desperation can drive us to

unthinkable acts. But even amidst the darkness, a flicker of hope

remained—a tiny ember urging me to endure, to find a way out.

A Reunion on Christmas Day” The morning of December 25 arrived

swiftly, catching me off guard. Amidst the bustling streets, people

generously distributed clothes and food to those in need. To my

astonishment, there stood Arthur—my long-lost friend—alongside his

companion, selflessly aiding others.Giving them clothes and food.

Happiness surged within me; I longed to approach him, but shame

held me back. I retreated, but Arthur’s eyes locked onto mine. He

abandoned his duties, crossing the distance to embrace.He was surprised

I could see tears rolling.He quickly hugged me, his tight hug conveyed

more than words ever could—forgiveness, compassion, and a willingness

to look past my unkempt appearance.

Questions danced in his eyes: “What happened to you?” But I

couldn’t bear to explain. I walked away, deaf to his calls, haunted by my

own demons.

Days turned into weeks, and Arthur remained a silent presence,

watching over me. Then, on the eve of the new year, he approached.

My sister had confided in him, revealing my struggles. Arthur pledged

unwavering support—a lifeline in my darkest hours.

As the clock struck midnight on January 1, the air buzzed with

excitement. People clutched firecrackers, their laughter echoing. Amidst

the revelry, Arthur stood by my side. We welcomed the new year

together, and I couldn’t help but ask: “Do you have children?”

His laughter filled the night. “No,” he replied, “I’m single.”

In that moment, I realized that friendship transcends circumstances.

Arthur’s unwavering presence illuminated my path,reminding me that

even on the streets, connections matter—the warmth of a hug, the

promise of a better tomorrow.Felt like a memory from a better time. That

night, he had to leave