You Can Grow Less Beautiful by Christine Longaker (in Facing Death and Finding Courage) Your hair is falling out, and you are not so beautiful. Your eyes have dark shadows, your body is bloated: arms covered with     bruises and needlemarks;     legs swollen and useless. Your body and spirit are weakened with toxic chemicals urine smells like antibiotics,         even the sweat that bathes your whole body in the early hours of morning reeks of dicloxacillin and methotrexate. You are nauseous all the time-- I am afraid to move on the bed for fear of waking you     to moan and lean over the edge vomiting into the bag. I curl up fetally         withdraw into my dreams with a frightened back to you--         I'm scared         and I'm hiding but I love you so much; this truth doesn't change. Years ago, when I met you, as we were falling in love, your beauty attracted me:     long, golden-brown hair     clear and peaceful green eyes         high cheekcones and long smooth muscles but you know I fell in love with your soul         the real essence of you and this cannot grow less beautiful. Sometimes these days even your soul is cloudy         but I still recognize you. We may be frightened         and hiding our sorrow it may take a little longer to acknowledge the truth,         yet I would not want to be anywhere else: I am here    with you you can grow less beautiful to the world     you are safe-- I will always love you.