There is nothing more certain a primer to proof of life than hurt. It is an all validating tool of existence of ourselves, and others. Through it we transform, transcend, awaken, enlighten, come into being.
It is , or should be, the most certain and soulful of emotional mortars, Humanities bonding agent, for it is something we have and will share.
Yet In truth, by our own design, sullen willfulness, loss forged rage, or ignorance in malice, we will effort with all our might not to know the hurt of another, even as we may heap it upon them. From this, hurts’ sisters, Sorrow and Sadness, they become the ties that bind.
But there is above all, a greatest tragedy, the most piteous irony sown in hurt that we may share with those whom love and trust have also been woven.
It is when we so have not the courage to face in ourselves, those wounds in them we pretend to see.