Incurable illnesses and the misadventures of travelling. 

In the middle of December, on a dreary frosted night, my cough took a hold of my body. Earthquake shivers down my spine made the tip of my toes go numb, emphasizing the throbbing heat pulsating behind my eyes. 

I was struggling to breathe, and fighting a cold. 

However, I found solace and safety in your arms. 

Which was ironic. Taking ibuprofen was supposed to lower my hormones, thereby reducing my heat and inflammation. That’s how you medically get rid of pain. 

Chemically, however — you moved me more than anyone — more than any drug ever could. 

And so you held me throughout the night; something I hadn’t been comfortable with before with anyone. 

I don’t like feeling vulnerable. I had never let someone cage me within their arms this way, but I didn’t feel trapped. 

What I felt was sick; and it was beginning to annoy me. I didn’t need a common man’s cold keeping me awake for nights on end, I had insomnia for that already. 

So while slumber stole away your silence, a rage of coughs overtook mine. I didn’t want to wake you, so I tried pulling away — something I had done many times to you in the past without the excuse of being sick. 

I had never felt this kind of strength from you before though; the more I coughed, the tighter you held me closer to your frame. My resistance unsuccessful, I finally admitted defeat. I nestled into your arm, and borrowed your favourite position, burying my face into your neck. 

I felt the hum of your breath reverberate down your sweet scented throat, keeping time with the bass of your pumping organ; a hymn that calmed my soul; you felt like church. 

“Se latrevo agapaki mou,” you whispered against my hair. 

“Ah I’m sorry I woke you, I’m fine really.” 

Your response — the palm of your hand lay parallel atop my cheek, and you pressed your lips to mine feverishly, fervently, fondly. 

I mumbled against your mouth half-heartedly, “You’re going to get sick, pretty girl, and then I will feel bad.”

“A good reason to hold me, eh?” You chuckled at your own joke, and even through the pitch blackness I could hear your beautiful smile spread across your face, your body intertwined with mine. 

I fell in love multiple times that night, before the sun kissed the sky –and all with the same person. 



Every year, around this time, my immune system weakens. The symptoms come back and I become a common human with a common cold. 

December is one hell of a month. The ending and beginning of new adventures. 

Best and worst, right? 


Loutra, Greece 


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