Don’t you get it?
Pain isn’t invisible.
Pain can be seen.
Pain is the way her heart feels so much she connects her forehead with the unfeeling walls of her room a hundred times over.
Pain is the bleeding hills of knuckles, serrated crimson skin dangling on ends, and a million glass shards carpeting the toilet tiles.
And sometimes pain and confusion, when mixed together, turns into a pile of clothes stashed into a drawstring bag, squashed dollar notes in your pocket and your feet taking you far away from the only place you knew as home.