Hurting

Hurting

Hurting lives beneath the skin,

it does not always show its face.

It moves quietly through the days,

keeping time at its own pace.

Some pain comes sharp and sudden,

some settles in and stays.

Both demand to be acknowledged,

both refuse to fade with days.

I carried hurting like a habit,

thinking weight meant strength.

It taught me limits in the end,

and asked for honesty, not vows.

Love can hurt in honest ways,

when truth arrives too late or fast.

Loss leaves marks that do not fade,

even when the moment has passed.

Hurting changes how you listen,

how you read a stranger’s eyes.

It sharpens empathy and care,

in ways comfort never tries.

I no longer race the healing,

or shame the ache I feel.

Hurting is a human language,

spoken by what is real.

One day the pain will soften,

not gone, yet easier to bear.

Hurting does not end the heart,

it proves how deeply it can care.