UNSPOKEN PAIN

I wish I could explain it, but this ache has no language it sits between my ribs like a quiet animal refusing to die and refusing to speak. It’s the kind of hurt that doesn’t scream, doesn’t bleed, doesn’t bruise it just stays, heavy as a storm that forgot how to rain. Some nights it feels like fire, some nights like nothing at all, and that’s the part that scares me most: how emptiness can hurt more than the wounds. I try to tell people, but words collapse before they reach my tongue. How do you describe a shadow that lives inside you? How do you name a silence that cuts? This pain is a language I never asked to learn, a story written on my bones in ink no one else can see. And yet, I carry it. I walk with it. I breathe around it. Because some pains cannot be spoken… only survived.