It’s an inconsolable toddler, who smiles when you wave toys in front of his face, but dissolves into tears again seconds later.
It’s the jackhammer breaking apart the road outside your window each morning.
It’s the guest who stayed a few days long.
This is my knee right now.
I tried ignoring it, hoping lack of validation would discourage it back to quiet. I tried coddling it, hoping the attention would appease it. I tried spitting the difference, testing the waters.
It’s been 20 days, and the nagging pain resurfaces at every wrong move, like a ruler in the hand of a boarding school teacher.
It’s not the pain that bothers me so much. It’s what it means. It means I am deprived of one of the things in life that keeps my head clear.
No long runs over golden hillsides. No spin, the thrum of the music driving my thoughts out of my brain. No dance classes, where I can be someone else for an hour.
Friends tell me to go to the doctor. My stubbornness has prevailed so far, but desperation might make me give in.
I get hours of hope, when my gate evens out. But the nagging returns with any semblance of activity.
Please, God, heal my knee.