I have learned to hold pain softly,
like a bird with fragile wings,
knowing that flight begins in breaking.
I have watched sorrow light up,
its flames illuminating darker rooms,
teaching shadows to sway like dancers.
To love is to walk the razor’s edge,
sharpening the burden until it hums,
turning ache into the melody of longing.
We stitch together moments of contradiction,
threads tearing just to mend again,
the fabric stronger for its fraying scars.
Hurt bends its knees to love’s persistence,
folding into corners of the human heart,
until our wounds are gardens in bloom.