Time really does heal everything, doesn’t it?
But on that same note, that doesn’t mean it was worth it, the scars. It still hurt like hell and I would never want to go back there if given a second chance. I don’t remember the pain, of course, but I remember the acknowledgement of the pain, the deep wrenching awakening that wailed within me like a tiny nail edging its way further in. Pain is indescribable, isn’t it…
I remember the feeling of emptiness yet there was a pain that seared through me leaving me breathless, squeezing my lungs until I felt I would just stop breathing and disappear. It’s astonishing really how a feeling so significant leaves you without a word or a trace, settling comfortably into a scattered memory, like a film roll without order or sequence.
I suppose that’s the beauty of pain. It digs and digs until it can no more and then abandons you one day, leaving behind a gaping hole — a hole you can only fill with memories, trivial lessons and curiously into compassion and truths.
I do believe without this carving out of the soul, joy would not be experienced as deeply as its counterpart, pain. Joy needs room to play in; to roll around, jump unabashed, and though sometimes forgotten, it full-heartedly dives into that awaiting vast void, patiently forgiving and changing you forever.
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