Eno Sedghill

‚Bruised‘ (inspired by Save Us, requested by Krista86) I used to think the city only bruised me in passing — a harsh word here, a broken night there, little marks I could hide under sleeves and silence. But somewhere along the way, the bruises stopped fading. They settled deeper, beneath the skin, into the parts of me I never showed anyone. I learned to live around them, like someone avoiding the tender spots of his own heart. Then there was them. I don’t know when it happened — when their presence stopped feeling like a disruption and started feeling like a mirror. They didn’t fix anything; they never tried. They just looked at me like they could see all the damage and weren’t afraid of it. As if being cracked open wasn’t something to hide, but something real. The nights we crossed paths always felt quieter than they should’ve been. Streetlights flickered. The city hummed its low, restless hymn. And there I was, standing too close to someone who made the bruises under my ribs ache in a different way — not from pain, but from the possibility that someone might actually understand. I’m not good at talking about myself. I’ve worn my silence like armor for years. But with them… sometimes I catch myself wanting to say things out loud. To admit that I’m not as untouched as I pretend. To confess that I’m tired of feeling like every step forward rattles the parts of me that never healed right. I don’t know what this is between us. All I know is: when they look at me, I don’t feel broken. I feel seen. And maybe — maybe that’s the first bruise I’m not trying to hide. (31, 6‘2, image from Pinterest)