Pain knocks, loud and unrelenting,
but the doorknob turns both ways.
It waltzes in like an old friend,
uninvited but never unfamiliar,
settling on your couch, shoes still on,
trailing its muddy memories across
the soft fabric of your quiet moments.
You offer it tea, hoping kindness
might sweeten its bitter tongue.
You try closing windows, locking doors,
stacking chairs against the flood.
But pain is a guest that doesn’t
linger for your rituals or desperation.
The trick, I learned too late,
is not to board the windows shut.
It is to sit with it for a while,
nod at its weathered face,
and say, “I see you there.”
When it finds no resistance,
no barricades or pleas to stay,
it stands, stretches, and sighs.
Then, with no fanfare,
pain turns the knob on its own,
and leaves you lighter than before.