Say it out loud, that your pain matters.
No matter how old it is, it matters. Even though they no longer want to hear it and you no longer have the strength to mouth it, it still matters.
Your pain is your pivot but it is not everything that you are. So even when you feel that bleeding is all that you will ever amount to, pause.
Breathe. Caress your goodness. Commit it to memory and sigh again at how you used to quietly proclaim it to self so well.
Believe that you are worth something other than regret and angst and breaking into beautiful patterns that you pawn for peace.
Scream fucking loud and awaken those that were still left behind after you ruined everything.
You are alive. You are fire and you are surprisingly, unbelievably hope filled. Wear your healing as a halo and wield it a like a force-field.
Be brave, cry public tears and watch an ocean of distressed kindred souls shake free by your hand. Your pain is your passion is your voice.
It is acting on your pain that makes it matter. You will not dissolve into nothing.
Under the blue fluorescent dusk of the bus you are huddled in, get out of yourself and walk. Life beckons.