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Daydreams and Nightmares Jeff McCallumjeff@marksman.net Strange thing. My cancer has moved to the other lung, and I am again waiting for it to grow or slow. Four years, three surgeries, and much waiting, yet this time, while I wait I am not so often writing of the illness or the attending cast of characters. I am more, oh, I don't know exactly, more adrift perhaps. More curious about the touch of hand, the brush of my lover's fine, soft hair on my cheek, the wonder of it all. I still wonder how I can help the world be a better place, why I failed at this or that, how to climb at least one more mountaintain or say I love you with every fiber of my being, and of course, I still rant and rave about the world. When I dream of a home, I make assumptions: I assume it will not be I do not have this dream because I am living I do not have this dream because someone took my house I do not have this dream because there are five or twelve or twenty I have this dream because I can. If I have this dream, I have this dream because I do not take each day for the gift it is. Published: October 24, 2007 |
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