Some wounds don’t bleed,
yet they echo for years—
quiet fractures in the soul
that no apology can mend.
We grow around the damage,
like trees bent by old storms,
learning to stand,
but never forgetting
where the lightning struck.
DX.A
Some wounds don’t bleed,
yet they echo for years—
quiet fractures in the soul
that no apology can mend.
We grow around the damage,
like trees bent by old storms,
learning to stand,
but never forgetting
where the lightning struck.
DX.