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The Peace of Jasmine
By Isabel Calione
On a sunny afternoon, I decided to walk through a small town I visited from time to time. I always found the perfect excuse to return to the place where I was born; doing so filled my heart with a serene and familiar joy.
As I walked along its streets, I greeted the people chatting on the sidewalks in front of their homes and local shops. Strolling through the neighborhood felt pleasant, almost comforting. When I left the town center behind, I reached a small square that was usually deserted. However, something caught my attention: a young woman was sitting on one of the benches.
I had never seen her before. Her face reflected a quiet sadness. She had wavy hair, softly sun-kissed skin, and a delicate way of dressing that made her stand out. My curiosity grew with every step until I finally gathered the courage to approach her.
“Good afternoon, miss. How are you?”
She looked up. Her eyes were deep and gentle, though they clearly showed traces of tears. She offered a faint smile before answering.
“Good afternoon, sir. I’m fine, thank you.”
“Excuse me for bothering you. I’m visiting my hometown, and it caught my attention to see you here. It’s rare to find someone sitting in this square.”
“That’s true,” she replied. “I hardly ever see anyone here. I’m always alone. It seems no one has discovered how special this place is.”
“And why is it so special to you?”
When I asked her that, she looked at me intently. For a moment, I felt I had invaded her privacy.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I shouldn’t have asked that. I’ll take my leave. Have a nice afternoon.”
“Please, don’t go,” she stopped me. “You don’t need to apologize. Let me introduce myself first. My name is Jasmine.”
“Nice to meet you, Jasmine. My name is Eduardo.”
“The pleasure is mine, Eduardo. I’ll answer your question. This place is special to me because here I am far from my environment, from my obligations and personal relationships. In this space, I feel that nothing affects me. Here, I find peace.”
“What does peace mean to you, Jasmine?”
My question seemed to surprise her.
“Peace is a state of harmony,” she replied after a brief pause. “When I have conflicts with people who try to hurt me or disturb my tranquility, I feel unwell. Disappointments from those I care about also prevent me from feeling peace.”
She lowered her gaze and fell silent. I felt a deep desire to hold her, to protect her. It was clear she was going through difficult moments.
“Jasmine, may I tell you what I think about peace?”
“Of course.”
“To me, peace is the opposite of conflict and violence. Sometimes, not confronting our own feelings or refusing to accept what is happening to us distances us from it. Peace is born within us; it is a virtue connected to tolerance toward others. It doesn’t begin outside, but deep within the human being. It lives in the heart and in the soul. When we experience it, we find peace everywhere, not only on this bench. From what I can see, you seek peace by distancing yourself from conflict, and that reflects a fear of being hurt. Don’t be afraid. Don’t run away. Allow yourself to love without fear, and you will find the peace you long for.”
Jasmine listened attentively. For a few seconds, I feared I had made her uncomfortable. She remained silent, then lifted her gaze toward the sky. Finally, she stood up, looked at me, and said:
“You bring me peace. Today, you taught me something very important. It was very nice meeting you.”
“The pleasure was mine, Jasmine. I’ll pass by this square again sometime. Maybe I’ll see you here another day.”
“I don’t think you’ll see me here again.”
She took a piece of paper and a pen from her bag and began to write. When she finished, she took my hand, placed the paper in it, and gently closed my fingers.
“Thank you for the conversation. Goodbye.”
I watched her walk away until she disappeared from sight. Then I opened my hand and quickly read what she had written:
“Kind man, you will not see me in this place again because today I understood that the peace I seek is spiritual. I need to calm my soul and leave behind the fear of being hurt. Walking away from people or sitting alone on a park bench is not the solution. I will carry with me that virtue of tolerance you mentioned.
I leave you my phone number so you can call me, and one day we can meet for a cup of coffee. You choose the place; wherever it is, I will feel peace.”
Isabel Calione
October 22
By Isabel Calione
Today the rain kisses my face
and blends with my tears.
It is October 22.
Time has passed, but my heart
remains frozen in your absence.
It has been two years since I last saw you,
and I return to the place where we were eternal,
where the world stood still
and only you and I existed.
Walking here without you
is living in a nameless emptiness,
it is feeling how a heart ache
when it loses its other half.
I still hear your sweet words,
your fiery caresses and kisses
still burn on my skin.
I replay your messages
like someone searching for air,
like someone who needs to remember
the sound of love.
I look up at the sky and ask for a miracle:
to meet again.
The leaves fall,
they cry with me,
and the cold wind speaks your name.
I let myself sink into this sorrow
without defenses, without control.
I cry like that first day
when we were torn away from each other.
I take a deep breath,
gather the courage to leave,
and then I see it:
destiny approaching slowly.
It is not a dream.
I knew you would come.
This day was always ours.
We step out of our cars
and in a single glance
we forgive an entire lifetime.
No words were needed:
the soul and the heart spoke.
I ran into your arms,
my only home,
the place where I want to stay
forever.
You caressed my hair
and said, “I love you.”
And I understood that the distance
was, as you used to say,
an attack against our love.
But today the present gives us back
the lost opportunity,
and that is all that matters.
Today is October 22.
And love, at last,
found us again
with all its passion.
By Isabel Calione
Discover the Magic of Isabel Calione
A Story of Love or Obsession?
María and Giancarlo
By Isabel Calione
I gave you everything, and still it was not enough.
I became invisible in your eyes. I learned to believe that loving meant pain,
and I kept trying until pain defeated love.
I gave myself so deeply that I lost myself,
trapped in a labyrinth with no exit. Giancarlo was everything to me; it was a toxic love. I knew it, yet even knowing it, I stayed, because sometimes the heart insists where reason no longer lives.
I promised it would be different, again and again, and I always returned to the same place. I fought to understand whether it was desire or love, because if it was love, why did it confuse, why did it hurt, why did it weigh so heavily?
You did not value me, and yet I gave you everything. Your words knew how to wound and at the same time caress; they dressed themselves in tenderness to hide their sharp edge. I tried to leave, I wanted to free myself, but you always planted promises of a forever that never came.
And I, naïve, waited for that impossible miracle. A part of me wanted to fly, to spread my wings, to surrender to the seduction of new loves, to burn in other passions, or to sail far away—so far that no one could reach me—listening only to the song of the sirens. But I couldn’t. Your shadow remained tied to my soul and my heart.
One day, your selfishness awakened me. I understood that my feelings had already become habit. Your silence, your distance, your absence even while being present showed me that I deserved different treatment, even a different love. And this time, I was the one who said, “I’m sorry…”
You asked that we remain friends, in an intimacy with no future. You said so sincerely, “I love you, María,” and I chose to be happy. I am far away—very far from you.
Who wants a life full of emptiness, without words, without caresses, without respect?
I have seen too many loves wither in routine and contempt.
I do not want that. I seek the opposite.
Today, paradoxically, today I am told that he needs me as I once needed him. Sometimes love walks unevenly, and now I understand that loving truly requires total surrender—but not everyone knows how to do it. Not everyone can let go of pride or close the door on a tormenting past.
This is how it works: we move forward until one of the two ends up wounded. That is why I chose to sail, as I always dreamed. It no longer hurts the same. At times I became insensitive, and yet more alive, more passionate.
Waking up every morning and learning to live without him is different; it is my only cure.
What can I say? Happiness is born from the ability to love and to allow love to be the answer. That is why, despite everything, I will never stop believing in love.
Isabel Calione