Familiar Pain

Comfort exists in familiarity.

It is the straw that broke this camel's back.

This beast takes several forms.

The classic, happy, healing comfort:

The warmth of a cup of tea,

Your mother's hug,

And a smile from your past.

Simply put, this comfort is soup.

It is the comfort found in knowing the details:

Where the worst potholes lurk,

Which clock lags,

And which floorboard doesn't take the abuse quietly.

This comfort is the feeling of home.

The other familiar comfort is perhaps the most real.

It is that which you know is coming, but you do not desire.

There exists a kind of comfort in the uncomfortable.

It is not comforting.

It is not warm.

It is not fuzzy.

It is disturbing, heartbreaking, and sharp.

It is both deeply natural - primal even - and wholly unnatural.

It can make you writhe in pain and cry in anguish.

It can make your vision blur.

It is the set of struggles assigned to your soul.

This comfort is torture -

The kind that ignites your monster.

You hate it, but it overcomes you once more,

As it has before

And will again.

If you fight it, it grows.

If you surrender, it will bury you.

This comfort demands your cooperation.

You must accept it for what it is - a challenge.

It is a dangerous game you cannot win

Like dancing with the flames and knowing you will get burned -

The only question being, how badly?

It is this comfort that you dread,

But at least you know it will always be back.