When I stumbled upon this poem by Emily Dickinson, I felt understood. It really resonated with me, which is surprising for such a short piece of writing. She truly captures what it feels like to go day after day with pain to the point where you can’t remember a time without it.
The Mystery of Pain
Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
Can you all relate to this poem? Isn’t it beautiful in its simplicity?