When we visit someone, an open door offers us a quiet trust: “Enter as you are—we are the same.”
We may notice a passing disorder, dust forgotten by time, or fatigue that has yet to be arranged. But the more important question is not what the eye has seen, but what the heart has chosen to dwell on. Was it the warmth of the welcome—or a small detail that swallowed the entire scene?
اضافة اعلان
Homes, like their owners, live through heavy days and lighter ones. They are not showrooms. When someone opens their home to you, they are not displaying furniture; they are sharing a moment of their private life—a moment that deserves respect before observation.
To leave a visit carrying dust means you entered with an eye searching for flaws. To leave carrying a sense of beauty means your heart was too clean to stop at an imperfect detail. A harsh eye fails to see generosity; a compassionate one sees only the human being.
In our culture, we celebrate good hospitality, yet often forget good visiting: to be light, grateful, generous in spirit, and not to hold people accountable for what they never promised.
A wisdom worth holding onto:
Homes are arranged when time allows; hearts are cleansed only when we choose.
So choose, as you leave, which kind of dust you will carry with you.
