I often wonder how many times a heart can break and still keep going. Mine has been through storms, fires, betrayals, and nights of endless questions. It’s been cheated, backstabbed, and left to carry wounds that were never deserved.
And the hardest part? These wounds didn’t come from strangers. They came from people who should have been my safe place — the ones I trusted most. When the very hands that promised to protect you are the ones that push you down, the pain cuts deeper than words can describe.
But even with all that, my heart still beats. It still carries me through the mornings when I’d rather not get out of bed. It still reminds me, in quiet whispers, that I deserve peace — even if others tried to take it away.
I used to think strength meant never breaking. Now I know strength is breaking a thousand times, and still daring to beat again.
The scars in my heart aren’t weaknesses. They are proof that I’ve lived, that I’ve felt, and that I haven’t turned cold, even when life gave me every reason to shut down.
I am proud of my heart. Not because it’s untouched, but because it’s stubborn. Because it refuses to give up. Because after everything, it still works.
— Jayasudha
unspoken, still