To be ill…

It is to feel alone—among many friends
To speak the same language—to hear other sounds
To part ways, to leave all that was familiar
To feel beside a loved one—estranged.

To fear until it hurts from the unknown
All that will be—in your eyes a riddle
To not look forward to the coming of tomorrow,
Because you do not know when it will be too late…

People you loved try to understand,
You distance yourself, there are those who are angry,
They do not know that only one who is there,
Can understand that now in your eyes this is a dead end.

It is to walk barefoot on stony ground
To experience entirely alone difficult moments,
To hear sounds that are no more and once were,
And to always long for the past…

(A poem written by an MS patient. The fear is of the inevitable progression that characterizes the disease.)