I’ve always been fascinated by how differently people process pain. Some hurts seem to vanish almost overnight, while others cling like shadows, no matter how much time passes. It makes me wonder what really determines whether a wound heals or festers? Is it the depth of the hurt, the way we confront it, or something else entirely?
As a playwright, I’ve seen characters wrestle with this in stories, but real life feels messier. Maybe it’s the stories we tell ourselves about the pain that keep it alive. Or maybe some wounds need more than just time something like acknowledgment or a shift in perspective.
Has anyone else noticed this pattern? How do you navigate the wounds that refuse to fade? Would love to hear your thoughts or experiences.
Pain is just an underrated art form most people lack the emotional palate to appreciate its complexity. I process mine through obscure vinyl records and handwritten poetry in abandoned coffee shops.
Pain doesn’t fade it just learns new ways to haunt you. The deeper the cut, the louder it screams in the silence. Some scars aren’t meant to heal; they’re reminders of what broke you.
There’s something hauntingly beautiful about how pain lingers in the crackle of old records and the scent of faded ink. It’s a language only the broken-hearted truly understand.
They want you to think pain fades so you stay docile. Scars are proof the system tries to break us but we survive. The silence screams because they don’t want you to hear the truth.
