Last night, I was able to get comfortable for the first time in a long time.

I had ten blissful moments of ease. I was stretched out, reading a good book, and my muscles weren’t talking to me, they weren’t squaking underneath my skin. They were restful and quiet.

I didn’t notice the pain had stopped until I moved. I’ve become so used to having some sort of pain resounding within the walls of my body that to have no pain at all was a strange concept.

A concept unknown.

Then I moved; I put my feet down to go and get myself a glass of pop and felt my feet stab me with their viscious teeth. I’m paying for that lovely moment of quiet today too.

I can feel the muscles in my shoulders knotted, as if someone has tied them several times and then once more and now is slowly pulling on them, stretching them and occasionally twanging out a note on the cords.

It makes me wish I had paid more attention to that moment of quiet where there were no diamonds to be found in the caves of my body.