As long as you're hungry

"Not all hunger is felt in the stomach.

There is a hunger that lives deeper—in the heart.

It is a hunger for kind looks,

for silences that do not hurt,

for hands that remain.

Learning to give.

Learning to receive.

This is the time of the heart."

------------------------------

Once upon a time there was a woman.

Her name was Sem.

She had been walking for days.

She was hungry.

But not for bread.

Hungry for peace.

For kind eyes.

For home.

And behind her…

walked a Dragon.

Big. Silent.

Nameless.

Because names are for those who want to be called.

Sem and the Dragon arrived at the end of the world.

Or at least… so it seemed.

A forgotten village.

A few houses. Little land.

Little joy.

“We only ask for a place,” said Sem.

And no one said no.

But no one said yes.

They found a half-collapsed house,

at the edge of the forest.

And they settled there.

As one does with scars:

slowly,

without expectations.

Sem dug the earth.

He cooked.

He made bread, cut roots, lit the fire.

Every day he prepared food.

And every day he offered it to the Dragon.

But the Dragon shook his face.

“I'm not hungry,” he said.

And she didn't insist.

She stroked his neck.

And said:

“So… I'll wait.”

One day a girl arrived.

Her name was Ila.

She had cuts on her hands

and a heart full of cracks.

Then came Aro,

an old man who no longer spoke.

He was lost for words with his wife.

Then came Milo,

a child who screamed instead of crying.

Sem welcomed them all.

He sat them down.

He served food.

He didn't ask questions.

He only said:

"You can stay here.

As long as you're hungry."

And the house filled.

With light footsteps.

With spoons against bowls.

With low voices,

then louder.

With silences that were no longer frightening.

Only the Dragon remained empty.

Thinner every day.

More lifeless every day.

Then, one night...

Sem fell into the snow.

Tired.

Empty.

Broken from too much giving

and too little receiving.

They found her lying down.

Eyes closed.

Skin as white as flour.

Cold as earth.

The Dragon approached.

He looked at her.

And felt something tighten in his chest.

It wasn't hunger.

It was shame.

It was love.

Then he did the one thing

he had never done.

He ate.

Not for himself.

For her.

He ate the soup. The hard bread.

The bitter herbs.

Everything she had prepared,

day after day,

with tired hands

and an open heart.

And Sem awoke.

He opened his eyes.

He saw the fire.

He saw the Dragon.

He saw that its scales were shining.

"Why now?"

he asked softly.

The Dragon bowed his head.

And said only:

"Because even those who love...

must learn to receive."

From that day on,

no one at the house in the woods

never went hungry again.

Because everyone understood:

Loving one another

isn't just giving.

It's also sitting down.

Opening your hands.

And saying:

"I need something too."

-------------------------------

For those reading...

To those who have given so much,

and forgot to ask.

To those who hunger for gentle silences

and hugs that don't ask for explanations.

To those who carry a dragon inside them—or maybe they are.

To those who are afraid of being a burden,

but every day keep other people's worlds standing.

This story is for you.

To remind you that you don't love just by giving,

but also by letting someone stay,

when you're the one in need.

Because no one heals alone.

And true love

is not measured in sacrifices,

but in hands that reach out—in both directions.

With care,

for those who are hungry

and for those who are learning, little by little,

to sit at the table.