Some hurts do not fade simply because the days kept passing. Sometimes a single word, an offhand memory, can pull you back into a room you fought your way out of. The air feels cold, and suddenly you're standing inside an older version of yourself, the one you prayed you'd never have to face again. It isn't self-pity. It's the aftershock of a moment that broke you in ways you're still learning to speak aloud. A moment that left marks on you far more quietly, and far more deeply, than anyone around you ever sensed. There are storms you survived in silence, even while surrounded by people who never truly saw you. Times when you longed for someone to look at you and say, "I know that was heavy. I know why it still lives inside you. You never should have carried that alone." But when your pain is brushed aside or your triggers are treated as exaggerations, the wound doesn't close; it simply learns to bury itself under the skin. Your trauma is real. Your reaction is real. Your body remembers the things your mind keeps trying to organise into something neat. And you're allowed to want softness. You're allowed to want someone to meet your eyes and say, "I understand why this still lingers." One day, these memories will lose their bite. But until that day comes, be tender with yourself.