Dying love

 How I wish to see you running on the soccer field once more like you did in high school. How I wonder what things could've been like if I'd confessed my feelings to you. Now I sit here, trapped by four white walls and in a plastic chair with both my palms folded over your right hand. What I'd give to be your right hand woman for the rest of forever. It seems though that your forever will only be a day.

  How I wish your family wasn't so ignorant. How I wish they'd helped you sooner. How I fear what could've happened if I'd never gotten the call from you. I couldn't bare having that weight on my shoulders. The guilt of knowing you died alone.

  Cancer is a killer. Not just of it's host, but of the victims of grief. I die inside every time I visit you and witness you getting weaker. I dream of the days your short auburn hair whipped in the wind while you'd swing on a swing like the man-child you were. When your half-blind blue eyes would shine like the moon's reflection on the ocean. Why does the universe always select the best of heart as it's punching bag?

  I watch the heart monitor beep slower and slower. I know I should be crying or upset, but I can't help but chuckle. Why? Because I have flashbacks of the days coach would take your arm and stop you from running. When you'd become pale yet unable to stop moving while someone restrained you. All those times when you'd simply smile at the school nurse as she used her machines to check your pulse, before advising you to take it easy.

  I suppose I should be grateful. I was always afraid you'd lose the battle to your illness in high school when you were first diagnosed. You were my crush after all. My undying love for you still remains eternal. I know you will probably never get to hear this because you will most likely not wake up again. I guess this letter is my only way to get the feelings off my chest.

   I remember those days when everyone around you would cry in disbelief due to the news of a growing tumor or blood clot. You were so brave. You'd shrug it off, simply say "I'm okay", and before anyone could say anther word be back outside with your soccer ball, prosthetic leg never getting in the way.

   Now...that prosthetic lays beside the hospital bed. You've grown older and definitely stronger in build. I see your blue eyes flutter open, and for a moment feel relieved, before realizing your heart beet is growing slower.

   I still remember that day. The day you left me. Your lips parted for a second, and the words I would die to hear again came out. "I love you, Ash." You said. I remember crying out. "I love you too."