Most loves are chosen,
Though the greatest never feel like a choice.
Masters of our destiny,
We like to feel that we decide who enters the door to our lives.

Love is a gift,
Something we send or accept, willingly.
And when unreciprocated,
Cuts deep into a core you never knew you held.

Love is a burden,
But a responsibility that lights our eyes as we carry.
As fires are extinguished all around us,
Love is a torch that flickers eternally through our lives.

My gift wasn’t chosen,
And it certainly isn’t the greatest love of my life.
But it is the most defining-
The burden of chronic illness (for life).