Mornin’. It’s a new day.

Classes to take. Major to pick. Friends to make.

Classes wrap up. Major changes once or twice. Friend rushed to hospital.

Too much to drink, they say. You must help him, they say. Never hear a thank you.

Mornin’. It’s a new day.

Never felt like the other guys. Swipe left and right. Meet him through a friend.

Nights out under the stars. He’s your first. Parents find his shoes.

We don’t get it, they say. It’s not natural, they say. He moves away.

Mornin’. It’s a new day.

Meet up for lunch. Fever hits 103. Mom says something is wrong.

Doctor’s visits for weeks. Hospital for a month. Diagnosed stage four.

You’re so brave, they say. You have the “good one,” they say. Remission.

Mornin’. It’s a new day.

You take it easy. You think. You wallow.

No clue what is to come. College starts in two months. No one really knows what’s in your heart.

You’re only twenty, they say. You’re so young, they say. So naïve.

Wish they knew. You’ve fit eighty years into twenty, with all the new days you’ve had.