February 2026 - Vol. 23, Issue 1

I’ve held Pain at bay like a former lover,

pretending I never cared for her stiff

joints, her sour breath. But how intimately

I’ve studied her, running my fingers

over her crooked spine, the hollow

of her knees. A body

so like a father’s. She felt comfortable

letting me sleep against her, the warm,

round loaf of her weight

stinking of menthol and sweat—

What hypocrites we are, pretending

we never loved Pain, never obsessed

over her flaws and inconsistencies,

how she squanders our days

in pursuit of her ambitions,

then rushes back to smother us

with aches. Perhaps all love

is this cruel, this arbitrary. Pain’s

is just the most selfish, demanding

we change with each wound, until we too,

become one more iteration

of the strangers time devours.

I’ve lost my features among them,

my curiosity. I want to remain myself!

But myself needs a constant, and what is left

when everyone is gone? I have nothing

more to love but Pain with her sugar fingers,

her gnarled, dissolving face. I am

Pain’s child now, her compatriot, friend.

I’ve spent a life trying to reach her

in her sanctuary, to take my place

before the candied bed. No wonder

I want a body to walk with me now

through these halls, to stare with me

into Pain’s eyes, those glassy,

winking flames. So familiar, so full of piety

I could believe my strength never abandoned me.