Pain is beautiful in a painting, but depressing in a discussion. A ledger dripping in tears distilled from regrets frozen in time can only be read to the current date. An attempt to read future pages reveals only a confusing calligraphy, intelligible until they too join the pages of the past. Past choices are etched in black ink upon an ivory page, every harmful action underlined in scarlet.
Scars won in battle are heralded as marks of valor; why then is it scars won in battle against the mind are seen as weakness? Tiring of the repeated phrases, rolling through every discussion we deign to share with another.“It’s all in your head.”“But you’ve done so much.”“You seem so happy.” Scarred souls sing out into the cosmos, an everlasting harmony of heartache for the connection they cannot feel. Only changing as voices fade and new tones join the chorus, new stanzas birthed with every irrevocable action.
Fire and ice in a constant battle for the body, every fragment of existence a site for conflict. One decision results in a frozen heart as the mind burns with self hate, another a heart burning in passion as the mind freezes in self doubt. Frostbite and flames course across the body, leaving immaterial wounds that no hospital can treat. Regrets bring a pain of their own, every remembrance an ache without medication, a pain that must be processed rather than diagnosed.
Yet the world isn’t ready for a discussion so deep. Life is spent searching for that next heart ready to hear the violence in a voice as it describes the daily battle, hoping to find that kindred soul before it’s too late. Countless stories float by, of souls who lost the battle, who said goodbye all alone without a companion to say wait.
TL;DR Silence is pain, but speaking without an audience ready to hear is torture.
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