Cheapened Self

I saw him at dinner today.
Kind of like Smeagol
From Lord of The Rings.
His bald head, with odd dangles of hair,
And deeply sunken eyes—
Spoke of one thing only
Chemo.
Through dinner, we exchanged many glances.
Although seated on different tables,
I felt as though we were having a private conversation.
Suspend time—I felt his reality
And he, mine.
The very life that I cheapen each day,
He seemed to add worth to.
Would I trade places with him?
At the first given chance. 
Dear Man in Yellow Shirt,
You're a hero—my savior.
For you live even as you die,
While this cheapened self
Dies while living.

- On learning that sunshine comes from the darkest of places