And we yell.
Each nursing a private hurt.
A self-centred pain we believe the other caused.
And we don't pause to think about the others pain.
We are too focussed on our own sense of wounded pride.
Our own need, desire,
for the other to understand our reason,
the pain they caused.
The insults fly,
words pierce,
the pain grows until we can stand it no longer.
'Til there's nothing left but that blinding stab.
'Til we can only glare in anger, think in tears,
emerse ourselves in our own inner pain
as we clutch at our wounded sides.