by joetwo

I am missing my chances

Trapped by the microbial prison, held by viral intrigue.

The sickness fills me with dread

Each breath hurts, each cough, moves a lung.

A nose running marathons in my head

I am miserable

The worst part though is not the physical

but rather, the realization of what this has cost me.

What works had been forfeit

What plans had been put aside

What lovers rendezvous had been cancelled

It is these, not the quality of life, but the quality of life missed which hurts more

The chance to make amends, to relive what has been lost, that will make the mere physical discomfort

The trials of biological attack more than bearable.

For what is worse than the pain of a lost dream?

The pain of thinking what could have been

What had been taken by fate

What is gone by no fault of your own.

The ghosts of what could have been stay with you longer than the most entrenched microbe,

The pain of missed chances, can scar a lifetime of success.