Traditionally, when I hear those two words, a series of images and words flash through my mind- war, peace, wounds, blood, a white flag… Why shouldn’t the things you do, say or hear count too? Those trivial things leave large gleaming white scars- maybe not ones you can see as a reminder or have on display for everyone else to view, but are there just the same. Perhaps, those hurts are more painful in some ways. Nobody knows what you don’t tell them, so the unless you say the words aloud, you’re left alone in a room of darkness and pain. There is nobody to give you stitches because these hurts are to painful to mention. It may seem like you’re sinking into a pit and every shout and struggle draws you in deeper…
Maybe you’ve experienced that? It’s a pretty somber note, I know, but don’t worry it’s not my pain I’m describing in that last paragraph. I met this grumpy old lady on the bus today and I couldn’t help wondering, Why is she such a b—- ? Some pain like I just described might have happened to her in her lengthly life. Or, then again, maybe she’s just an old bag…

