Does this story resonate with the you were looking for, or should we focus on a different interpretation of the wound?
One afternoon, Elif visited an old potter named Selim. In his workshop, she saw a beautiful ceramic vase, but it was crisscrossed with gold-filled cracks.
"Why didn't you throw this away?" Elif asked, touching the gold lines. "It’s broken."
She treated this wound like a secret shame. She tried to "fix" it with busy schedules, loud music, and constant smiles. But at night, in the stillness, the ache would throb, whispering, “I am still here.”