There is a pain you can’t think your way out of. You can’t talk it away. You can walk. When you walk you propel it forward. Then it sits with you, the Pain puts its arm over your shoulders. It is your closest friend. Steadfast. And at night you can’t bear to hear your own breath unaccompanied by another and underneath the big stillness like a score is the roaring of the cataract of everything being and being torn away. Then. The Pain lying beside your side, close. Does not bother you with the sound even of breathing.
Peter Heller, The Dog Stars