The wound and the word leave your mouth in the same breath, no seam between them. The place you were hurt and the way you name things occupy one degree of your chart, welded into a single instrument: you think through the sore spot, you explain by way of it. Your mind reaches for language exactly where other people go mute, and that is why they trust you to put hard truths into plain, unflinching sentences. You can describe pain without looking away because describing it is how you survived it in the first place. The trap is talking about the injury so endlessly that you never have to fall quiet and simply feel it sitting there.
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