morning breaks

the air is heavy. tangible.
the smell of stale cigarettes cling to it,
like the tendrils of ivy climbing up a forgotten brick wall.
thunder rolls from the East, up and over the sea,

it came just for me.


Doctor J.

This is the man who I largely credit to saving my life six years ago;
the one who stood by my side through every hard treatment and side-affect that was thrown my way
and the one who I felt genuinely cared about me as a person, and not just as another patient.
This man is my oncologist, and has been a critical part of my life for over six years.

And he is transferring to Chicago in September, which means that I will be transferred to a new oncologist.

and I'm terrified at the thought of not having him on my team anymore.


24 days

no matter where I am in the world,
if I am standing by the ocean, I'm okay.
I like the way the sea makes me feel.
the reminder of how small I am,
but how I still count for something anyway.