They told me I'm lucky
to be alive.
It came like a silent predator,
deadly and without warning.
Never before have I felt
my vitality leave so suddenly.

They told me I'm lucky
to be alive.
It laid dormant, waiting patiently
for many years.
Then it struck, robbing me
of a life I once knew.

They told me I'm lucky
to be alive.
I was given a new burden to bear.
My world now demanded I keep up,
or lose the fight.

To be incurable is a harrowing thought.
You never fully appreciate
human strength
until it no longer belongs to you.
Death constantly looms,
waiting for your surrender.

But I refuse to lose.
My disease does not define me,
and I know I can win the war.
They told me I'm lucky
to be alive.
Honestly, I'm just getting started.

I am told that the first love
should hold a special place
within the heart.

Tucked away, sheltered
in a mysterious compartment.

When I thought of those days,
I would plead my mind to turn off that switch,
so I do not have to remember
the first love.

Seeing those days filled
with a certain joy indescribable
to the untrained soul,
I ask my mind to free me
from such shackles.

But I realize that my mind
is not seeking to torture.
I see those days filled with
warm embraces, encased
by grace and interlaced
with every place
we shared together.
I see these memories,
so short and sweet,
and I realize a first love
does not need to hurt.

So when my mind decides
to reopen that small compartment,
I feel a new love.
One that is nostalgic, reminiscent
of a great story,
and nothing more.
Something that can only be described
as a first love.