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.