My Cardboard Balcony

You'd Never Kissed A Girl by Belinda Roddie You'd never kissed a girl until tonight, the smell of spice and red wine like perfume wafting through each nostril. You saw a light flicker from a cigarette in the room. This one was tall, and built just like a brick, her red hair short and slicked back with crisp gel, and you immediately were lovesick like she had cast a simple magic spell or slipped a potion in your beer. You thought about your soft, pink lips against her own. The feelings inside you that you was fought off were now swarming like a harsh cyclone. She shared her stogie with you, and her laugh was enough for a smooch, and that was that.

They told me that my disease was most likely due to genetics, but that of course did not make it any easier for me to handle it. Slowly but surely, I would lose the ability to walk, talk, write, and even breathe on my own. I would be confined to a wheelchair, given a respirator, and wheeled around almost like I were a vegetable. I was ready to die before the worst symptoms set in. My loved ones, obviously, didn't want me to go just yet.