I was the kind of person who could, using some plausible excuse, inflict on a person I cared for a wound that would never heal.

Haruki Murakami
South of the Border, West of the Sun

These lines from a story have haunted me lately. They seem to ring true in so many ways. People do inflict wounds on people they care about. I know, I have done it. And doesn’t it sometimes feel like your wounds will never heal? Your heart is broken in the same place so often. You are in pieces, and don’t think those stress fractures inside can ever be knit together. You have stopped imagining a time when you will feel whole again. I know, I have felt that.

Their despair in this story is tangible. But as I read it, I was reminded that this is not the only story I have read. I know other stories about other people, like this one….

Read more at Tales of a Sojourner.