You said it was nothing.
A moment. A breath.A slip.
But it felt-
sharp,exact,deliberate.
Like salt pressed
into a wound
that was already trying to close.

Pain doesn't always scream.
Sometimes it just sits there,
quietly burning
beneath the skin,
waiting to be noticed again.

Your words were small,
but they carried weight.
They knew exactly
where to land.

And now I carry
the sting,
not because I want to,
but because healing
refuses to rush.