Hurt

Hurt lingers like a shadow,

a whisper trapped in the corners,

clinging to the silence between words,

each breath a soft reminder.

It shapes the way we touch,

the way laughter hesitates,

as if the joy is held up,

waiting for an invitation to return.

In quiet moments, it surfaces,

a crack in the mirror,

reflecting all the things

left unsaid, unfelt, undone.

We carry it in our pockets,

like stones worn smooth by time,

turning them over,

each memory a dull ache.

Yet in the heart’s tender space,

there blooms a fragile hope,

where healing threads the needle

through wounds that speak in color,

reminding us we are not alone,

each hurt a bridge

that connects our stories,

woven together, stitched with grace.

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