The pain hums low, a steady thrum,  
woven into muscle, threaded through bone.  
A history carved into the body’s frame,  
etched deep where no one can see.  

I stand, I move, I carry on,  
as if the weight isn’t there,  
as if my spine isn’t screaming,  
as if my past isn’t pressing against the present.  

Some days, I forget.  
Some days, it reminds me.  
Some days, I wonder  
what it would be like to exist without ache,  
without the echoes of what was broken,  
what was fixed,  
what never fully healed.

- Quartz