Healing Where It Hurts

Where thorns had pricked and heavy stones had pressed, where old wounds lingered and the pain stayed dressed in silence, I knelt down and touched each place — not to undo, but to give them gentle grace. I let the sunlight warm the tender parts, let rain wash clean the dust of broken hearts. Slowly the sharp edges softened into strength, deep scars became the roots of greater length. What once was aching now holds history, proof of the battles fought and won by me. I mended what I could, and let the rest turn into wisdom, beautiful and blessed. Healing does not mean the marks depart — it means they no longer tear my heart apart. Whole and alive, I wear my past with pride, blooming bright where all my hurts reside.