sincerely, amity

maybe

Luz got home from her daily cemetery visit. She continued to bring the diary every day and read with Amity.

It was a Friday afternoon, she called out to Eda and made herself a quick meal. She stood silently in the kitchen and ate, mentally planning her day tomorrow. She figured it wouldn't hurt to get the group together, like they used to. As she finished her bowl and began to hand-wash it, she could make out faint footsteps behind her.

"Hey kid," Eda spoke behind her.

Luz dried the bowl and put it in the cupboard, turning to face the witch.

"Hey Eda, what's up?" She asked, walking over to rest her elbows on the kitchen counter.

Eda did the same, straight across from Luz, meeting her eye-to-eye.

"Is everything alright? You keep coming home later and later. I'm always here if you need anything," She spoke, worry coating her voice.

Luz thought for a moment, contemplating her word choice.

"It's getting better. I'm not sure if I'm ready to say it's alright. I've been going to the cemetery every day after school, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Luz said. "I haven't actually told anyone this, but,"

She pushed herself up and walked over to her bag, pulling out the diary.

"Amity left me this. It's her diary. Emira gave it to me the day of her funeral. I didn't read it at first, it took a few days to convince myself I wanted to. It's mainly just her talking about her treatments or her disease. I take it to the cemetery to read with her. It's weird, many people would love to see what their loved ones felt or thought in their last moments, but one part of me still wishes I never accepted it from Em,"

Luz looked back into Eda's eyes as she realized how long she'd been talking. She'd never seen this face on Eda, it was a mixture of sympathy and pride. She slowly walked over to the brunette and pulled her into a long, silent hug.

"Not many people are like you, Luz. I am so proud of you, words can't even express it,"

Luz closed her eyes and leaned into her mentor.

"I love you, Eda," She murmured.

"I love you, too, kid. I'm going to bed now, though, don't stay up too late,"

She pulled back from Luz an bent down to place a dramatic kiss on her forehead.

"Uhg, Eda! Gross!" She laughed as she tried to swat the older woman away.

They parted their ways, and both walked to their rooms. Luz laid down on her bed, turned on her lamp, and immediately flipped through the diary.

July 8th

I've been thinking a lot recently. It's really all I can do. I think a lot about the past, since I already know my future. I finally realize that I need to let go. I need to let go of all of the bad memories, thoughts, feelings, people. But again, it's hard when all I can do is think.

Writing helps me control these thoughts a bit. I'm able to organize the words on paper, then try to understand my head a bit better. What's in the past doesn't define me as a person, I don't think. Whoever wants to stick with the person I am now is who I've learned to trust, not the people who found out I was dying, and left. Even worse, the people who found out I was dying and entered.

Maybe the people who left had a good reason. It's hard to watch someone die. I wonder a lot about my friends, what's it like for them? I can't imagine it being one of them, and having to watch them get worse and worse, knowing the outcome. I don't know if knowing they were going to die would be easier or not. Perhaps, maybe if the doctors never told anyone I was going to die for sure, there would still be hope that I might make it. Without that hope, however, I guess it's better to know I'm going to die, rather than hope I live, and I end up dying anyway.

Maybe the people who left just didn't want a dying friend. Maybe they think I'm contagious, or maybe they just think it's gross. Maybe they didn't want the responsibility of looking out for me.

So many thoughts revolve around the word 'maybe'. Maybe people leave for a reason. Maybe it would be better to not know I was dying. Maybe I'll get better, and I won't die.

But maybe is just a thought, and maybe what I'm about to do will sound crazy, but maybe you'll understand.

Sincerely, Amity

Luz flipped the page and was greeted with another envelope, held in place with a paperclip. She pulled the clip off and removed the letter, closing the diary. She flipped it over to reveal the recipient.

'Dear, Boscha'