I grabbed the doorknob of the door that leads to her room. Pushing all my hesitations away, I gathered up my courage and opened the door.
It looks the way it always does, her paintbrushes on her desk still unwashed, our pictures pinned on the wall and her unwashed clothes still loitering around the room. I inhaled only to smell her scent.
As I walk towards her bed I noticed the bookshelf where she keeps her sketchpads, I always enjoyed watching her draw, I took the one with the blue cover. I proceeded to her bed and sat there. I opened the sketchpad, of course the first couple of pages are blank, I turned the pages and arrived to the pages where her sketches of me is located. If she was here, I have been smacked by now. Yes, if. It has been 5 days since then, February 14th, it was supposed to be the day that I will tell her something; something I have hidden from her for years, the reason why I had to keep rejecting her, the reason why I had to throw away my masculinity and the reason why I had to keep my real feelings locked up. I pulled out Bri's phone from my pocket, and for what it feels like 100th time I read her last entry.
It left me wondering if I ever told her I was dying too, will that change how we spent our days together? I kept convincing myself that I did the right thing but in the end I was just a coward. Out of all the regrets I have, something I wished that I told her a long time ago, something that is more important than my sickness; I wished I could have told her "I love you too Bri".
