The pain comes, wrapping itself around us, entirely.
The ache in your heart. The tightness in your chest.
We never know what’s wrong without the pain.
The dizziness. The numbness. The lethargy.
We never know what’s wrong without the pain.
The tight muscles. The exhaustion. The nausea.
We never know what’s wrong without the pain.
The cloudy head that throbs with each heartbeat.
We never know what’s wrong without the pain.
The presence of pain tells a story.
A story of grief. A story of loss. A story of heartbreak.
We never know what’s wrong without the pain.
This pain, the ache from it, you couldn’t possibly explain to anyone other than those who have felt it too. It’s consuming. It’s powerful. It can’t be dimmed with medicine. There is no medicine to heal a broken heart.
This pain is not welcome or appreciated but without it you’d never know anything was wrong or different. The pain is the consequence of love. The grief is a consequence of love.
We never know what’s wrong without the pain, so we take it. We let it consume us, knowing the influence that it came from. The kind of hurt that is so deep and mighty it almost feels good. The kind of pain that says I loved fiercely.
We never know what’s wrong without the pain, and this is the unique pain of goodbye.
