The simple moments.

Seeping into the two-inch gel mattress , which acted more as a barrier between my bony body and cold stone floor beneath it, I heard little footsteps nearing.   This was my humble abode for the 8 “bad days” that followed chemo.   Looking around, the white marbled bathroom felt castle-like.  Here, I was alone with my thoughts. The only sound was that of my struggling lungs gasping for the air molecules, which so teasingly fluttered through my swollen eyes.  “Pizza night” was soon announced as Ali pranced through the sliding door separating my loyal chambers from the rest of the world.  My desires to leap up and hug her were all too faulted.  I lay still – head to toe – just as I had all day and night with the exception of my opening mouth for the colorful pill that came its way like the parking meter as it waits for its feeding of the next dirty quarter.  As the overwhelming smell of the homemade pizza sent me into a trans I was reminded what that it is the little moments  that make the journey.  The simple moments.