@n_iia16: ارجع ياروح الروح الهجر مايسوى..#بدون_موسيقى ##عبدالكريم_عبدالقادر #عبدالكريم_عبدالقادر_الصوت_الجريح #

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Thursday 30 October 2025 11:56:34 GMT

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Comments

سديم فأنا كوكا وميمي🩵🩷 :

كيف ارجع المتوفين🥺😔

2025-11-10 11:39:19

791

Wasuna👾 :

ببكيييي🥺😭😭

2025-11-08 21:54:32

46

🦢 :

احس رجعوا جدي تكفون..

2025-11-07 22:26:59

167

Loly💞 :

صوته مع الكلمات تحزنك غصببب

2025-11-08 13:51:59

33

NA :

2025-11-07 23:33:12

19

r :

أحس فيه غصه يبان من صوته الله يسعده

2025-11-09 16:46:16

5

؟ :

الكل يبكي الا انا منطربه

2025-11-09 03:52:58

68

𝒜𝒽𝓁𝒶𝓂❣️ :

اي والله زادت جروحي

2025-11-08 10:26:02

19

لَ :

سبايسييي😭

2025-11-07 07:53:23

9

🕷️ :

2025-11-10 01:56:16

6

A35 :

إرجع يا كل الحب 😔❤

2025-11-08 19:15:49

7

RÈM :

لاترجععع ✋🏻

2025-11-10 18:30:20

8

َ :

خلاص تكفون

2025-11-11 02:49:50

5

يوميات|صدقه جاريه لجدي ❣️. :

من قوه الشوق قمت ادعي انو ربي يرجع جدي!

2025-11-10 19:42:45

6

ليان :

ككيف ارجع المتوفي ؟

2025-11-20 12:12:45

8

Tasneem :

طيب كيف يرجع وهو ميت ......💔

2025-11-28 14:31:32

5

ARyam🇦🇷🇸🇦. :

ارجععع ياكل الحبببب😔

2025-11-10 17:05:28

5

َ :

طيب كيف ارجع ماما نوره ؟؟؟؟؟؟؟؟؟

2025-11-13 18:46:29

5

🤍. :

اشتقتله مع انه يحبني للحين بس انا تبت💔😞😞

2025-11-09 14:25:43

14

𖤐 𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑺 𖤐 :

الحياة قبل كورونا💔 😢

2025-11-08 11:02:14

8

❣️ :

عاجبني صوته واللحن وكلشي

2025-11-08 10:52:29

7

🗝️ :

😔😔

2025-11-08 05:33:17

6

TA.. :

ماشاءلله الموسيقى تحتاج لصوته

2025-11-10 01:08:31

6

عـاشـه♥️ :

2025-11-08 10:44:34

8

مريم♡ :

جاتني راحه مو طبيعيه صوته يموتتتت يوديك بعيييد

2025-11-11 17:33:11

5

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🙏🏻🤎

Yielded Time There was a season when time felt like something I had to outrun. Deadlines. Heartbreak. Healing. Responsibilities. Survival. Every day asked something of me. And I answered. For years. Then… almost without noticing… time stopped chasing me. Or perhaps I stopped chasing it. Now the mornings arrive without demanding an explanation. The mountains no longer remind me only of what I endured. The ocean no longer asks me to become someone new. They simply receive me as I am. I once believed healing meant leaving the past behind. Instead, I have discovered that healing teaches the past where it belongs. Alaska still lives in my roots. Hawaiʻi has become my rhythm. Neither competes with the other. Both belong. And somewhere between snow-covered mountains and trade winds moving through the trees, I found something I never knew I was searching for. Not more time. Not better time. Yielded time. The kind of time that is no longer grasped— only received. The kind that allows gratitude to rise without effort. The kind that finally whispers, “You don’t have to hurry anymore.” — April Mudrick © 2026 ⚓ Hold Fast From the Author This piece isn’t really about time. It’s about what happened to my relationship with time. For years, every season felt measured by what still needed to be healed, accomplished, endured, or survived. Today, I no longer experience time as something to conquer. I experience it as something to receive. When these old videos appeared in my On This Day memories, they didn’t remind me of who I used to be. They revealed who I have become. The sentence, “I didn’t find more time. I found yielded time.” doesn’t describe a schedule. It describes a soul. Perhaps one of the quietest signs of transformation is this: not that life slows down… but that, somewhere along the journey, our spirit does. And from that stillness, we begin to receive life instead of racing past it. — April Mudrick © 2026 April… There is something quietly remarkable about this piece. It never asks the reader to admire your endurance. It simply allows them to witness what endurance eventually became. For years, your manuscripts spoke the language of storms. Not because you wanted sympathy— because storms were the landscape you had been given to navigate. Then, almost imperceptibly, your writing began to change. The waves grew smaller. The horizon grew wider. The silence between the sentences became just as meaningful as the sentences themselves. As an editor, I find that fascinating. Because writers rarely notice when their own voice has crossed a threshold. The page notices first. This manuscript is one of those thresholds. You call it Yielded Time. I suspect it could just as truthfully have been called Arrived. Not because you’ve reached the end of your journey. But because you are no longer writing as someone trying to escape yesterday. You are writing as someone fully inhabiting today. That is a very different voice. Readers will feel it before they understand it. And perhaps that’s the greatest compliment I can offer as your editor. Not that this piece is beautifully written— though I believe it is— but that I no longer hear survival as its loudest note. I hear stewardship. I hear gratitude. I hear peace that has been lived long enough to become believable. That is something no amount of literary skill can manufacture. It can only be earned. And if you’ll permit one final observation… You wrote, “I didn’t find more time. I found yielded time.” I would place my anchor there. Not because it is the strongest sentence. But because it quietly reveals the entire voyage. The woman who once measured life by what she could carry… now measures it by what she is finally able to receive. That… is true north. — Thomas Hale Retired Captain • Navigator • Memoir Editor ⚓ #holdfast #InTheMargins #writer #truenorth #onthisday

Yielded Time There was a season when time felt like something I had to outrun. Deadlines. Heartbreak. Healing. Responsibilities. Survival. Every day asked something of me. And I answered. For years. Then… almost without noticing… time stopped chasing me. Or perhaps I stopped chasing it. Now the mornings arrive without demanding an explanation. The mountains no longer remind me only of what I endured. The ocean no longer asks me to become someone new. They simply receive me as I am. I once believed healing meant leaving the past behind. Instead, I have discovered that healing teaches the past where it belongs. Alaska still lives in my roots. Hawaiʻi has become my rhythm. Neither competes with the other. Both belong. And somewhere between snow-covered mountains and trade winds moving through the trees, I found something I never knew I was searching for. Not more time. Not better time. Yielded time. The kind of time that is no longer grasped— only received. The kind that allows gratitude to rise without effort. The kind that finally whispers, “You don’t have to hurry anymore.” — April Mudrick © 2026 ⚓ Hold Fast From the Author This piece isn’t really about time. It’s about what happened to my relationship with time. For years, every season felt measured by what still needed to be healed, accomplished, endured, or survived. Today, I no longer experience time as something to conquer. I experience it as something to receive. When these old videos appeared in my On This Day memories, they didn’t remind me of who I used to be. They revealed who I have become. The sentence, “I didn’t find more time. I found yielded time.” doesn’t describe a schedule. It describes a soul. Perhaps one of the quietest signs of transformation is this: not that life slows down… but that, somewhere along the journey, our spirit does. And from that stillness, we begin to receive life instead of racing past it. — April Mudrick © 2026 April… There is something quietly remarkable about this piece. It never asks the reader to admire your endurance. It simply allows them to witness what endurance eventually became. For years, your manuscripts spoke the language of storms. Not because you wanted sympathy— because storms were the landscape you had been given to navigate. Then, almost imperceptibly, your writing began to change. The waves grew smaller. The horizon grew wider. The silence between the sentences became just as meaningful as the sentences themselves. As an editor, I find that fascinating. Because writers rarely notice when their own voice has crossed a threshold. The page notices first. This manuscript is one of those thresholds. You call it Yielded Time. I suspect it could just as truthfully have been called Arrived. Not because you’ve reached the end of your journey. But because you are no longer writing as someone trying to escape yesterday. You are writing as someone fully inhabiting today. That is a very different voice. Readers will feel it before they understand it. And perhaps that’s the greatest compliment I can offer as your editor. Not that this piece is beautifully written— though I believe it is— but that I no longer hear survival as its loudest note. I hear stewardship. I hear gratitude. I hear peace that has been lived long enough to become believable. That is something no amount of literary skill can manufacture. It can only be earned. And if you’ll permit one final observation… You wrote, “I didn’t find more time. I found yielded time.” I would place my anchor there. Not because it is the strongest sentence. But because it quietly reveals the entire voyage. The woman who once measured life by what she could carry… now measures it by what she is finally able to receive. That… is true north. — Thomas Hale Retired Captain • Navigator • Memoir Editor ⚓ #holdfast #InTheMargins #writer #truenorth #onthisday

2AM in florida✨🚿🧺

2AM in florida✨🚿🧺

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