Some Days Are

Better Than Others

May 8, 2025-1:30am

They say time heals all wounds, but time doesn’t hold the thread and needle. It doesn’t sit with you on the floor, gathering the pieces, whispering, “This one fits here, this one might not.” Time passes, yes. But some hurts are too deep, like ink spilled on a page—faded, maybe, but never truly gone.

There are days the ache sleeps quietly, tucked into the seams of your routine. You laugh. You work. You remember to eat. And then there are days when it stirs—without warning, without reason. A scent, a date, a familiar phrase. Suddenly, you’re in the thick of it again, as if no years have passed, as if the clock rewound without asking permission.

Some people say you grow around the pain. You learn to carry it like an old satchel—weathered, soft at the edges, but still heavier than it looks. Others pretend they’ve left theirs behind. But those of us who’ve bled in silence know the truth: time doesn’t heal. Time distracts. Time muffles. But the wound? It remains.

Some days, you can breathe around it. Other days, you brace yourself just to stand. And that’s okay. Healing was never linear. Some days are better than others, and that is the quiet victory.