I was thinking today about being wounded. The type of wounded that I get often, by people I have to speak to or be around often. The type of wounded that they can’t see, they don’t understand that it can happen, that it is real, that it needs quiet recovery time, and that it hurts deeply.
Ever gotten a serious gash on your hand from a knife in a sink of soapy dishwater? No? Well, how about stabbing yourself in the wrist with a small, sharp knife as you try to cut wax off the sides of a big three wick candle? I did that one. Ouch.
The knife probably went into my wrist about 1/4”, which isn’t very deep as cuts go. I didn’t even need to go to the emergency room because the knife was small and the cut less than 1/4” in length. But it started bleeding…
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