A soul-tale about memory, sorrow, and the quiet return to self

There once was a man
who sat quietly by a stream,
gazing at his own reflection in the water.

But what he saw
was not light.
Not youth.
Not joy.
Only the deep creases of sacrifice,
and the tired shadow of a face
that had given everything away.

He did not see the laughter
of years gone by.
He did not feel proud.
He did not feel alive.
Only the echo of all he had endured.

The water stirred, as if to say:
“Do you want to see something else?”
But the reflection stayed the same.

Then—
something unexpected.

A small fish swam up,
golden and weightless,
splashing through the mirrored image,
shattering the sorrow.

The man watched her dance,
and he smiled.

“I was like that once,” he thought.
“But what happened? Why did I forget?”

He sat in silence.
A long silence.

Then a whisper,
not from the stream,
but from within:

“You gave your life away to others,
*thinking it was the right thing to do.
But you forgot to love yourself.”

“And until you learn to love yourself truly,
others will keep stepping on your heart—
not because they’re cruel,
but because your love is not anchored in truth.”

“Remember this:
There’s a difference between loving yourself
and worshipping yourself.
A small difference…
but it changes everything.”

The man nodded.
And for the first time,
he saw not his face—
but his soul
reflected in the ripples.