I understand hate. I have at one time held hate against someone and have been the object of someone else's hate. Hate spins from fear-- fear of the unknown, the known, the supposed. I almost understand love. I love and am loved by my family and friends in ways I get and ways I could never fathom. Love comes from protection, understanding, vulnerability. Vulnerability--not something at which I excel. It's not something I even pretend to embody although it sneaks up on me every so often. I am open. I am opinionated. These qualities do not vulnerability make.

What I don't understand is hurt. Hurt comes when you least expect it. I'm not talking about emotionally-trying, tear-jerking chick flick scenarios or stepping barefoot on a 200 year-old, petrified, rusty nail. I'm talking about making eye contact across the room with someone you used to know. There, even spanned over a hundred faces, something hits you like a blow to the solarplexis; one that catches you off guard and robs you not only of your breath, but for a split second knocks all ability of sense or reason from your very bones so that you can never truly explain the feeling that happens next. Maybe that feeling is vulnerability. Maybe that's why I don't understand hurt, but I'm pretty sure I will whenever I buckle down and finally get that root canal.