Invisible Wounds

A tremor, deep inside, when the unexpected word strikes home. Not a fist, not a shout, but a whisper, a casual dismissal, or a glance held too long, or not long enough. It doesn't bleed, not red. It splintered inward, from battles long past, from arguments left open like wounds to the air. Each tiny shard, a glint of remembered pain, lodged beneath the skin of composure. You walk, you talk, you smile, you breathe. The world sees seamless. But inside, there's a delicate tension, a fear of pressure. One wrong move, one careless touch, and a sharp edge might shift, piercing deeper. It's the flinch before the touch, the hesitation in a laugh. The way a sudden noise can echo the blast. A constant hum, a faint, persistent ache, a map of old explosions written on the soul. Emotional shrapnel, invisible, yet ever present, a quiet, internal war. ©bfa053125