One day, it stopped hurting. I don't know if it became numb or if it simply died. I don't know if it's incapacitated or if it's plain dead.
All I know is that this world seems to take weak things, delicate things, and smash them with delight. So these things must either toughen and change in nature entirely, or die. And yet -- and yet -- they still remain. Even after all this time, all these hundreds and thousands of years, human still make delicate things. Fragile things still remain. I wonder what that means.