Pain can be a gift. It makes me a better person. It gives me compassion. When I am broken, I am open. When I am broken, I see the brokenness in others. It is because of what pain gives me, I can give more to others. Indeed, through pain, the beautiful is more beautiful; the brave are braver; the honest are appreciated in full. Because of pain, such words have found this page: their purpose from inception being fulfilled.
Pain might as well be the full completion of understanding something. As if defeat, loss and brokenness are necessary to truly being alive. After all, life is not defined by the bind of words that cause the prison of definition. Life is living. Life is crying. Life is hoping. Life is loving. Life is pain; because pain is not less than joy. It is the mountain that holds the sunset; the frame that holds the painting; the stem that holds the flower. It’s something that’s beautiful because something else makes it so. And that, I dare say, is a gift.
Thumbnail Photo by Philippa Langley