I Saw Him on the Street… and It Hurt Me Too
🌿 The moment someone else's pain became mine Foto de Martino Pietropoli en Unsplash Sometimes, what hurts is not what we live through, but what we witness. It wasn’t my body bleeding. It wasn’t my legs trembling. But something inside me cracked open. Yesterday, as I walked down an ordinary street, I saw a boy. He had been beaten. Blood ran slowly from his nose, and his legs were covered in inflamed sores, raw and red, as if his skin were crying for help. I don’t know what happened. Maybe he got into trouble. Maybe it was a fight. Or maybe he was just in the wrong place at the worst time. But what stayed with me wasn't the scene— it was the ache in my chest, a silent, searing sting that I couldn’t name. 🕊️ Seeing… and not walking away There are moments when life won’t let us look away. Someone else’s wounded body becomes a mirror, distorted, reflecting all the times we were broken too. I didn’t ask him anything. I couldn’t. I just looked. And in t...