All good things don’t necessarily end, they change like the seasons…
“All good things” is a place for anyone with OR without chronic illness, debilitating illness, disability, or the carers for us to come and get away for 5 minutes to have a read and a piece of hope. Goodness can come out of hardship, and darkness can cloak itself for only so long until it bursts into the light.
Warmly,
Jonathan
“Hope is the last thing that dies. Maybe because hope is one of those dratted things that is truly, honestly, genuinely immortal.”
-Vera Nazarian
Two-Cup Day
For a moment I feel guilty for sitting around watching television after years of being too sick to leave the apartment except for physical therapy, neurology visits, or the occassional hospital stay when my body needed more than a cup of tea or my beloved cats Brindy and Athena sitting beside me as my oxygen machine eased the burden of breathing in a beautiful day like today. Today, my guilt takes over, though my mother tells me I’ve earned the right to rest when I can because I want to do everything at once.
I Don’t Wait for Permission
“A Silent Love Letter”
Digital Prose Poetry Chapbook** Sometimes, love stories don’t unfold beneath starlit skies or on sandy beaches—they bloom in the quiet corners of a gay pub, over slices of pizza, cold beer, and midnight kisses shared beneath the hum of a jukebox. In this deeply intimate prose poetry chapbook, two men find solace in each other, wrapped in laughter, fleeting moments of connection, and the quiet understanding only love can bring. But when daylight comes, one disappears, leaving the other to navigate the wreckage of heartbreak, loss, and self-discovery. As he faces the reality of a life-changing illness, he must untangle the past—was it ever love, or just a beautiful illusion? Can friendship survive unrequited love? Can broken trust ever heal? Raw, tender, and profoundly human, A Silent Love Letter explores themes of love and loss, vulnerability, forgiveness, and the courage to hope again. For readers of LGBTQ romance, introspective poetry, and melancholic love stories, this collection is a whispered confession, a heart laid bare—an intimate love letter never sent.
One Lifetime Isn’t Enough
One lifetime is not enough. It feels selfish to write these words; still I do at age 43.
Some will say I’m cutting myself out of roles I could be cast in by disclosing this number.
Some will say that the act of writing creative nonfiction will tank my teaching career.
Some will say I am fulfilling a prophecy by manifesting what I write.
Return to Start
That’s your chapter right now. I’ve faced the disease–now it’s time to walk with the illness. From surgeries to being hit by a car, I faced a few things that seem like a really twisted fairytale this year. Very unexpected things. I’ve gone to rehabilitation to get back to where I was one year ago. I returned to start.
Summer Remission
I sit drinking my club soda and lemon, with my legs crossed as I sit on a barstool across from my friend. The bar is dark with cherry-wood high top pub tables. A green pool table with a red awning just within my sight line. I stop and look down. I’m sitting on a stool, wearing flip-flops. In retrospect, I imagine it’s what hiking in high heels must feel like. I smile.
When the Bleeding Stops
They say: “All good things must come to an end.” Vacations, family gatherings, a piece of birthday Godiva chocolate cheesecake, a piece of yourself…
All good things…
A former educator for those with special needs finds the next chapter in life he was searching for. The “All Good Things” blog is moving to Medium.
That Old Life: Myelin, Magic, and Memory
I try to make others feel comfortable with my condition, and that Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy (CIDP) with central nervous system involvement doesn’t make me angry. Or sad. Or scared. But fear is part of this journey and the medication I choose today is a return to a shade of blue that can only be called peace.
Something Blue
Upon exiting the teaching profession, a teacher wonders searches for what to do next.
