Your Muse

"We have two lives and the second one begins when we realise we have only one"

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As I delicately turned the worn pages of my journal, a mix of nostalgia and melancholy washed over me. The bucket list I had penned with such optimism, now seemed like a bittersweet reminder of the life I once envisioned. At nineteen, my world had been forever altered, and I couldn't help but wonder what had become of the carefree girl who had dreamed of adventure.

Memories came flooding back as I flipped through the journal, each entry a testament to the hopes and dreams I had once held dear. I recalled the day I had scribbled down my aspirations with such fervor, the thrill of anticipation that had coursed through my veins. But now, confined to my hospital bed, those dreams felt like distant echoes of a life I would never know.

My fingers instinctively traced the words on the page, each item on the list a poignant reminder of all I had hoped to experience. Traveling to the City of Light, mastering the melodies of the guitar, and succumbing to the thrill of love - all were now nothing more than fleeting fantasies. The realization stung, a harsh reminder that life had other plans, ones that had left me with a future uncertain and a heart heavy with longing.

Emily, my nurse and confidante, swept into the room with her trademark warmth, carrying the day's medication. Her tall, blonde frame and bright blue eyes seemed to radiate an otherworldly energy, a stark contrast to my own frailty. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy; she embodied the vitality and beauty I once possessed, before cancer had ravaged my body.

"Time for meds, Ella," Emily chimed, her perfect smile a beacon of comfort. I didn't correct her; my name is Isabella but,she loved calling me Ella, and I'd grown fond of the nickname - it made me feel seen and special.

I let out a dramatic sigh, mustering up a weak protest. "Ugh, please, not another shot, Emi. I'm so tired already." Emily's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she replied, "another whine another shot one more day in life " she teased . Despite being exhausted I was assured that I was in safe hands

I surrendered to my fate, lying back as Emily administered the shots with her characteristic gentleness. My hands throbbed in protest, but I had grown accustomed to the discomfort. It was a small price to pay for the privilege of being alive.

As I settled into the hospital bed, my mind began to wander. I am Isabella, though Emily had affectionately shortened it to Ella. Currently, I am a resident of New York City's premier healthcare hospital, surrounded by the best medical minds in the country.

My personal life, however, was more complicated. My parents, though divorced, had managed to maintain a cordial relationship. I lived with my father, a respected judge, who had always been my rock. I had learned to respect their boundaries, not prying into the intricacies of their adult decisions. After all, some wounds were best left unexplored.

As the shot was administered, Emily's soothing voice encouraged me to unwind. I nodded, surrendering to the exhaustion, and settled into the hospital bed. Emily smiled and busied herself with her other patients, leaving me to drift into a state of uneasy relaxation.

Whenever I found myself within these sterile walls, time seemed to accelerate, as if the very fabric of the hospital was woven with an undercurrent of urgency. The distant wail of ambulances, the frenetic pace of the ICU, and the incessant beeping of the monitors all blended together to create a sense of relentless momentum. The sounds were a constant reminder that, here, time was a precious commodity - one that was always slipping away.

As I lay ensconced in my sanctuary, a sudden, insistent knock on the door shattered the tranquility. My heart skipped a beat as I wondered who could be visiting at this hour. Emily's face flickered in my mind, but I swiftly dismissed the thought. "Come in," I called out, my voice tinged with a mix of trepidation and curiosity.

The door swung open, and my eyes widened as a radiant figure stood before me, clutching a resplendent bouquet of sunflowers that seemed to embody the very essence of sunshine. "Dad!" I exclaimed, my voice trembling with emotion as a tidal wave of joy washed over me.

His face creased into a warm, gentle smile, and his eyes sparkled with affection as he murmured, "Hey, cupcake." The familiar nickname was a soothing balm to my soul, transporting me to a realm of comfort and security.

With reverence, he placed the sunflowers on my table, their bright yellow petals illuminating the space like a ray of divine light. His tender hands cradled my head, and I felt the warmth of his love seep into my very being, nurturing my heart and soothing my spirit.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I recalled the countless times my dad had blamed himself for my illness. But in this moment, all that mattered was his unwavering presence, a constant reminder that I was never alone.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low and husky with concern, his eyes scanning my face with a deep-seated longing to erase my suffering.

I smiled, feeling a surge of energy and love course through my veins as I gazed into his eyes. "I'm perfect, Dad," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I feel invincible with you by my side."

My dad, a pillar of strength, had always been my guiding light. As a judge, his profession demanded unwavering dedication, but no matter the pressure, he never once faltered in his devotion to me. His presence in my life was a constant reminder that I was seen, heard, and loved.

The memories of my parents' divorce still lingered, but it was my cancer diagnosis that shook my dad to his core. I was his beacon of hope, his shining star, and he was mine. In that moment, our bond grew stronger, a lifeline that tethered us together.

"Dad, when can I go back to university?" I asked, my voice laced with a mix of longing and determination. As a psychology student, I had always been drawn to the human mind, perhaps as a way to heal my own. The major had been my salvation, a coping mechanism that helped me navigate the complexities of my mental health.

My dad's expression softened, his eyes filled with a deep understanding. "Soon, I'll talk to the doctors about your discharge," he promised, his voice gentle but resolute. I knew he would move mountains to make it happen, to give me a glimpse of freedom beyond the hospital walls. The thought of feeling the warm sun on my skin and breathing in the fresh air was a tantalizing prospect, a reminder that life was waiting for me, just beyond the horizon.

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