Sometimes I wish I could just let go of you, forget you ever were. But I can't, I'm holding on to you just a little too tight I suppose, afraid that if for one second that I let go or let you out of my sight, that you'll just vanish and I won't be able to find you. And if I'm one thing now, I'm afraid, just so, so afraid.

And it's becoming more and more likely each day that my fairytale endings just won't come true. And even with that possibility growing by the day, you still manage to smile whenever I come up with another happily-ever-after ending for the both us. I think we're both beginning to lose faith in that happening at this point. But you told me once never to give up hope so I try not to, I try and hold on to it almost as tight as I'm trying to hold onto you so you won't go away.

And you live for that hope. That small chance that you'll wake up tomorrow and be as fine as you keep insisting you are. That small chance that nothing's wrong with you when something so obviously is.

I want to hate you for that forced optimism, the fact that you're wasting away, the fact that you want me to watch you die because no one else will. I want to hate you so I can forget about you, leave behind you and everything that reminds me of you, so I don't have to see you slowly deteriorate. But I can't; I'm just holding on too tight to you, hoping that perhaps if I do, you won't die and you'll just wake up perfectly fine just like you and I both pray will happen.

And with each day you look just a little older, and act a little more innocent, and feel just a little more dead. And you've begun to ask me all these questions that I can't even begin to answer like: "What is death like?" and, "Does it hurt to die?" and sometimes even downright ridiculous ones such as, "What is the color of death?". How could I answer that one? Bluish-gray?

And you're talking about all the regrets you have. Like how you wish you never broke your mother's vase because the look on her face when she found out hurt more than any of her words could have. And how you wish you traveled the world, but how you can't now because you're just feeling so weak.

And you hate it, you hate it all. You hate how you can't change the past, you hate how there's so little future left for you, you hate how dead you feel when you want so badly just to be alive.

And I hate it too, all of that and more. I hate the pain I feel whenever I look at you and see how sick you really are. I hate the guilt I feel when I realize I can do nothing to help you or when I just wish that all this would stop so your constant pain would just finally end. And I hate when I try and explain all my guilt and my pain to you and end up making you cry.

And I don't ever want to let go of you, but someday I'll have to. There will be a day when I wake up and you're just... gone. There will be a day when all your suffering has come to an end and mine will seem to double as I just wonder why. Why it had to be you that died. Why I couldn't do anything for you. Just why.

And I don't want that day ever to come, but it will. And unfortunately it's going to come soon no matter how hard we try to keep alive our already dead hope that you'll just wake up fine one day and we'll have our fairytale ending...