whispers of a broken heart

They said that if I screamed, the pain would vanish, that tears would wash away my sorrows, and that striking the walls would shatter my anger. I was nae enough to believe them. Now, my voice is silenced, my eyes are raw and swollen, and my hands are bruised and broken. I've come to understand the weight of fate and karma. The past I thought I had left behind now clings to me like a scar etched into my very being.
I keep repeating to myself that I'm fine, but deep down, I know I'm not. The nights are the hardest--when silence amplifies the echoes of my regrets, and the darkness brings the memories rushing back, uninvited and unforgiving. Every shadow feels like a reflection of the person I used to be, the person I tried so hard to escape. But no matter how far I run, the past finds a way to catch up, intertwining with the present in a dance of despair.
I wonder if there's a way out, a path to healing that doesn't involve breaking more pieces of myself. Or maybe, healing isn't about escaping the pain, but about learning to live with it, to let it shape me into someone stronger, someone who no longer fears the shadows. But that's a journey I haven't yet begun--one that requires more strength than I've ever known.