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ZIAKTU ZALEN

Lalremliana Pachuau: Lunglei, MIZORAM, India; This blog is for my love, my heart, my only one. She is my dawn and my dusk, my joy and my ache. Since December 2024, she has been confined to a hospital bed, her body waging a relentless war against a rare and merciless disease. I have watched her drift in and out of consciousness, her face pale yet still beautiful, her spirit flickering like a candle that refuses to be snuffed out. Together, we have walked through the valley of our deepest sorrow. We have wept until there were no tears left. We have laughed in moments when laughter seemed impossible. And through it all, her faith has been unshaken—ready to meet her Maker. She is the bravest soul I have ever known. A warrior, fierce and unyielding. She has fought, not only for her life, but for me. Yet now, the pain has become unbearable. She now wants to go in peace, to be free from this torment. But my selfish heart cannot let her go. I love her so deeply that her suffering burns within me as if it were my own. I am powerless to heal her, and so I do the only thing I can—I pray. And as the days crawl by, I write. Poetry and prose spill from my heart, each word a quiet act of love, each line a thread tying me to her. Enjoy.

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ZIAKTU ZALEN

Lalremliana Pachuau: Lunglei, MIZORAM, India; This blog is for my love, my heart, my only one. She is my dawn and my dusk, my joy and my ache. Since December 2024, she has been confined to a hospital bed, her body waging a relentless war against a rare and merciless disease. I have watched her drift in and out of consciousness, her face pale yet still beautiful, her spirit flickering like a candle that refuses to be snuffed out. Together, we have walked through the valley of our deepest sorrow. We have wept until there were no tears left. We have laughed in moments when laughter seemed impossible. And through it all, her faith has been unshaken—ready to meet her Maker. She is the bravest soul I have ever known. A warrior, fierce and unyielding. She has fought, not only for her life, but for me. Yet now, the pain has become unbearable. She now wants to go in peace, to be free from this torment. But my selfish heart cannot let her go. I love her so deeply that her suffering burns within me as if it were my own. I am powerless to heal her, and so I do the only thing I can—I pray. And as the days crawl by, I write. Poetry and prose spill from my heart, each word a quiet act of love, each line a thread tying me to her. Enjoy.

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