When we say, someone we are hurt by their words what do we actually feel?
I am not sure, if I can call this hurt, or sadness or just a bad feeling. Most of the time, most of the words do feel nothing, maybe just a blank stare or my mind being sucked off rational coherent thoughts for milliseconds, and this blip is enough for me to realize I have felt something. Which I wasn’t supposed to?
It has been like an earthquake stopping all of a sudden, yet the mind was still shaking off its debris. You throw your words, delicately on my skin the ones that are sticky, from the summer sweat and smells of ash. I feel something is burning, my face, my palms. The taste of your words feels citrus on my tongue.
And then.
And then, I feel nothing. An absolute stillness. A pause.
I say I’m hurt.
Copyright Jumbled Letters
Jumbled Letters 