Pain

Pain is a vehicle. Of remembrance. Transcendence. Richness. Sure, it's a particularly stingy one; yet it is no more, no less - a vehicle. A mechanism - to make us better, keep us human.

This in no way makes pain lesser, weaker, or non-important. It still is, of course, pain. That stinging feeling in your chest. The weakness making it harder to get out of bed. The inability to simply be; when existence becomes less of an experience to relish, and more like one to detest.

We grow when we hurt. Fresh wounds, bitter faces. All, depressingly, a cardinal virtue of this existence. Yet all this, in a sense, is the taste of life. No one can know how life without pain would taste - we can be almost certain it'd taste differently.

A lesser taste may result in a lesser experience, right?

This pertains to one of philosophy's essential questions: does evil have to exist? Or, rather, in this particular case: does negativity have to exist? Can't life just be all good? All the pain, the misery - is it absolutely necessary?

Sometimes I wonder; if life is bittersweet, then isn't pain the bitter part?

Only sweet when served with bitter.

Build a shelf of unfulfilled sighs, of broken bridges, of resonating scars - for the hair to grow, the connection to restore. Pain is pure, raw, volatile energy. So strong few can handle it gracefully.

Take this energy. Channel it into the good. Ride on the tide of pain, don't drown under it.

Pain is the spice of life.

Taste of unforgiveness.

To pain is to live.