It all began on a cloudy afternoon.
In November.
A day like any other,
Schoolwork, Netflix, Reading.
Simple mundane pleasures,
The necessities of college.
When the phone rang,
A number you don't recognize,
You answer anyway.
It's your doctor
The results are in.
You need to come in.
Walking to the clinic,
You feel fine,
Unsuspecting of the news.
News could be just that though,
News.
You sit down,
Across from the clinician in a plain normal office,
White walls, white floors, white desk.
Sterile, clean, safe.
Then they give you the news.
You tested positive,
For HIV.
It doesn't sink in,
Till you get back.
Hiding away the truth,
Not sure how to process it.
The truth.
Then it begins,
You write letters,
The old-fashioned way to communicate.
Telling your friends and family the truth,
Unable to do it to face to face.
Unable to give them,
the news,
Till night comes and you lay in bed, hoping
Tomorrow will be different.
Hoping that being positive is just News.
