Stories of a Life by the Sea

I live a life of quiet wait,A rhythm marked by patient fate.Each morning starts with hope restrained,By lines and tubes my flesh has gained. I wait for her, my gentle guide,To wrap this wound I cannot hide.Her hands, like grace, move soft and slow,To seal the place where lifeblood flows. I wait for meals, the scent, the steam,Small joys that drift into a dream.Each plate she brings, a gift of care,Each bite a prayer, each glance a dare. I wait to go to Calapan,Where steel and light and hums began.The road is long, the day is pale,But still I ride, so weak, so frail. I wait within the clinic’s walls,As…