55 Days with Luke Hemmings

Dear Blaze

Dear Blaze,

Where am I supposed to start? Wow. I love you. I love you so much that it hurts. Okay, maybe that's the cancer. Remember when you dragged me on a picnic, claiming it was 'National Picnic Day'? I'm still pretty sure that isn't a thing. Also, next time Calum calls you hot I'm going to shove him off a cliff, I swear. I want you to have all my stuff. I want my parents and the boys to have some, obviously, but I want you to get first pick, and everything else.

Remember when you first met me in the park and I was just some depressed eighteen-year-old dropout but you talked to me anyways. I had no idea we would get so close. I don't want you to be depressed when I die like I was when I found out I relapsed. It's going to happen soon, too. I know it, the doctors, know it, I'm pretty sure even you know it.

Remember when we sat outside and we both wished on that shooting star? I wished that you would find someone after me. Someone that would treat you well and not treat you like some freak whose boyfriend died. I will ghost punch anyone who does that in the face, okay? My life is turning into some cliché teenage dramedy. It's one of the bad ones, too. You are truly the most amazing person I've ever met. You are funny, and you seriously make the best microwave waffles in the universe. Kidding. But you make the best cinnamon rolls I've ever had.

I love you. This is not going to be as long as I wanted it to be, because you're annoying me right now and teasing me for writing you a letter. I love you. A lot.

Luke/Lucas/Hemmo/Hemmings

P.S. Do you think you can convince my mum to let you put some of your cinnamon rolls and waffle in my casket? That would be really cool of you. Thanks babe.

(He's dead and he's still teasing her.)