What wounds us is knowing there is no meaning waiting for us.
What wounds us is that life arrived empty-handed,
and left us to search for something it never promised.
What wounds us is that the meaning we once created and valued-
our imagination, our thoughts, our quiet, innocent ways of connecting, our tenderness-
slowly faded, brutally dismissed, slapped away by the stark reality that humans were born to survive,
that life is animalistic, and people die, kill, and suffer illnesses,
and nothing in it bends to our hopes like light slipping out of a room.