Pain is temporary.
Chronic pain is, well…
chronic.
It flows through you
like a deep black river.
Treading, floating, dog paddle, side stroke.
The swimmer’s strength is irrelevant.
Eventually you’ll be pulled under,
gasping and flailing - making pleas to the universe,
wondering if this will be the moment you finally drown.
Be we resurface, don’t we?
Determined and resolute.
Perhaps this is punishment, divine retribution
for some unknown sin.
Or, maybe that’s just how the cookie crumbles.
Some people get cookies,
others get just the crumbs.
I can still lick my fingers
taste the dust and remember the joy
of fresh baked chocolate chips in the oven.
The remembrance of joy
is sometimes the only thing that keeps us treading.
The river is dark
it’s ebb and tide unpredictable.
But here, we make our own light.
