So someone I love is hurting right now. And I want so badly to take her heart and mend it up for her. I know almost exactly how she feels. That feeling of waking up in the morning, just waiting for the hurt to settle down around you like a blanket. A blanket that seems to stay draped on your shoulders all day. There are moments you shake it off - someone makes you laugh, you get distracted - but at the end of the day, you’re still wrapped up in hurt.
I remember just wishing time would pass. I literally craved hindsight. I stopped wearing a watch because time passed too slowly. I put a post-it over the little digital clock on my computer at work because I hated realizing that only two minutes had passed.
Eventually, I got to the point where I could wake up and feel hopeful, the blanket of hurt folded neatly on the end of my bed – still in sight, still present, but not weighing on me. I stopped looking at clocks. And time just passed.
And I moved on.
It’s strange how we move on. How time keeps ticking, and we move forward. And even more strange is how valuable hurt is. It doesn’t feel valuable when you’re in it. It feels lonely and sad. You can be in a room full of people and still feel hurt. But I’m beginning to realize that in some ways it’s the hurt in each of us that enables us to love. We see in each other something familiar. And we’re able to share those parts. We can’t take each other’s pain, but we can share it. We can wrap each other up in all the love we possess, maybe smother out the hurt for just a minute. And in the end, it’s those minutes that we remember anyway.
It’s the minutes, those minutes that we watch tick away, that count in the end, as they become the whole of what we experience.
I remember just wishing time would pass. I literally craved hindsight. I stopped wearing a watch because time passed too slowly. I put a post-it over the little digital clock on my computer at work because I hated realizing that only two minutes had passed.
Eventually, I got to the point where I could wake up and feel hopeful, the blanket of hurt folded neatly on the end of my bed – still in sight, still present, but not weighing on me. I stopped looking at clocks. And time just passed.
And I moved on.
It’s strange how we move on. How time keeps ticking, and we move forward. And even more strange is how valuable hurt is. It doesn’t feel valuable when you’re in it. It feels lonely and sad. You can be in a room full of people and still feel hurt. But I’m beginning to realize that in some ways it’s the hurt in each of us that enables us to love. We see in each other something familiar. And we’re able to share those parts. We can’t take each other’s pain, but we can share it. We can wrap each other up in all the love we possess, maybe smother out the hurt for just a minute. And in the end, it’s those minutes that we remember anyway.
It’s the minutes, those minutes that we watch tick away, that count in the end, as they become the whole of what we experience.
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