Dear Peter,

The days following my diagnosis, I began to notice little things. I began to appreciate them.

I noticed the way that Zoya would always take my favorite cereal out of the cabinet and leave them on the counter before going to work. I'm much shorter than her, so I would otherwise have to climb onto the counter to get them. I noticed the way that when we sat in the car, she would turn on the ignition, but would wait until I had buckled my seatbelt to start driving. I noticed how the skin in the middle of her forehead would always wrinkle in concentration when she drove.

I noticed that I was happier than I'd ever been. It was so weird. I was supposed to be depressed, right? Instead, I was counting my blessings. I realized that I didn't have complaints. I loved people and was loved by them. I had the chance to change people's lives and I did and that, in my eyes, is a life well-lived.

There was only one thing left to do:

Tell you.

Peter, how could I just waltz into your life and try to show you the good in the world, only to tell you the very next day that I was dying? It was contradictory. I wanted you to see the colors, not the darkness. Each day, I inched closer to this goal, and I didn't have it in me to mess that up.

Charlie and Zoya, after seeing my strength, were stronger themselves. I could still see the pain in Zoya's eyes every time she looked my way, but she was gracious enough to comply to my wish and not mention the illness. Charlie told me how difficult it was for him to keep it from you. He said that you were a different person since you'd met me. Happier. What kind of person would I be to take that away from you?

When I walked into the arena for the first time after the appointment, I saw you sitting on the platform, tossing a small object back and forth between your hands. The sight of you did invoke emotions that I'd buried deep inside. The truth was that I knew I'd have to tell you sooner or later. There was no way around it.

I was okay with leaving everything in this world, Peter, except for you.

I didn't want to leave you.

Upon seeing you, I wanted nothing more than to embrace you and hold on forever, but I knew I couldn't do that. I had to do this the right way and at the right time, and this was not it.

Once I cleared my throat, you jumped, not knowing that I'd been standing there. The object fell from your hands, and I recognized the small silver band as Miranda's engagement ring.

I gave you a disappointed look. You hadn't let go of her, and at that moment, I knew what I had to do. I had to start letting go of things very soon myself, so this was for the both of us.

Without saying anything to you, I ducked out of the platform and began walking towards the stairs that led to the roof. I heard you following me, but you didn't ask any questions.

When we finally got to the top, I walked over to the ledge. Even the roof felt strange now. The last time I was here was when I danced with you.

When would the next time be? Would there be a next time?

Once I felt your presence next to mine, it took everything that was in me to suppress my tears.

"What are we doing up here?" You asked, genuinely curious. My gaze was on you, trying to capture every inch of what your face looked like and commit it to memory. How your cheekbones were prominent, nose sharp, and one eyebrow was slightly longer and arched higher than the other.

I guess I'd been staring for too long once you waved a hand in front of my face.

"Why are you looking at me like you've never seen me before?" You asked, chuckling.

'Because I want to fall in love with you again and again every day until the day I ...'

You were radiating, Peter. I couldn't tell you.

I ignored your question, knowing I wasn't strong enough yet to answer it. Instead, I took a crumpled up piece of paper out of my pocket.

It was the ticket to the first boxing match I'd ever been to. Yours. I had kept it after all of that time.

"What's that?" You asked, walking closer to me. Now, we stood inches apart, something that I wouldn't have minded the week before. Now, it didn't feel right. I felt like I was deceiving you.

"Something I need to let go of," I whispered, turning to face you. Your eyes bore into mine, searching for answers, explanations, anything. When you didn't find any, you licked your lips in frustration and stepped back. You knew what I was implying. I could tell by the way that your hand reached into your pocket and pulled out the ring.

"This is something that I need to let go of," You said, staring at the ring between your fingers. You were in pain. That ring was holding you back. I'd made it my mission since the day I met you to help you out of your darkness, and even after finding out that that same darkness was going to take me, my mission remained the unchanged.

We looked at each other, and you took my hand in yours. Together, we threw our objects as far as we could into the air as we could, watching the ring spin in the air as it landed heaven knows where. The ticket didn't go nearly as far, but it was gone. That was all that mattered.

Even though I should have felt lighter, it was like I had thrown a piece of my myself off of that roof.

I could hear every beat of my heart in my ears as I turned towards you, smiling widely.

"I don't know why I didn't do that before," You admitted, keeping my hand in yours. You looked liberated. That ring and Miranda's false promises of love had held you captive for far too long.

"Sometimes," I breathed in, looking down among the area where the ticket had landed, "You just need a little push."

I'd let go of something very important to me that day. It was the day that I first met you. Sure, it was just a ticket, but to me, it was so much more than that. It was the first of many steps in accepting my fate.

It was so easy for me to be strong around everyone. Charlie, Zoya, my parents, but you? It took everything in me to put up this facade around you.

"I wanna show you something," You said excitedly, not letting go of my hand as you led me down the stairs.

We were in your room.

The small familiar cube looked so different from when I'd first seen it. It was a little messier, with books strewn everywhere. The bed was unmade, and photographs among photographs were laid out upon it. I didn't say anything as you led me to them, your touch electrifying my heart.

"Sit down," You whispered, before taking a seat yourself.

They were pictures in black and white. A woman with the same nose as jaw structure as you stood with a baby in her hands, her eyes filled with absolute adoration as she peered down at the infant in her arms. Next to her stood a man, with the same eyes as you, a hand on her back as he looked down at the child as well.

"That's my mom," you said, pointing to the woman, and you slid your finger over to the man, "and my dad."

You were the baby.

The three of you seemed so joyful. You were a family. Something I'd never get to have.

I remained silent. There you sat, right aacross from me, showing me a part of your life you would never show to anyone else.

You were unknowingly making it so much harder for me.

"Mom died when I was ten," You whispered softly, "That's when my father began fighting in the championships."

I didn't know how to absorb any of it, but realized that staying silent wasn't a good idea. I took the picture from your hand, studying it closely.

"She's beautiful," I noted. She was utterly gorgeous. Her features were defined, structured, and her eyes held nothing but bliss.

You nodded, sadness in your own eyes.

"She was, inside and out."

I was still looking at the picture when I felt your other hand engulf mine, taking me by surprise. My eyes shot up to meet yours. They were full of passion and a fire that I knew I had been the one to ignite.

"Like you."

I began feeling nauseous. Not because of my sickness or the medication I was being treated with, but because of guilt. You were sharing with me another piece of your heart. I could never give you what was in that picture, Peter. I was making you happy, but that was only temporary.

Too temporary.

My eyes were welling up with tears. Your expression was so sincere, more so than I'd ever seen. I wanted to tell you right then and there that I loved you. I wanted to kiss you, but doing so would have been selfish.

I couldn't just take your heart and have it die with me, Peter, I needed it to live on forever. It had to.

Instead of responding, I simply smiled, ignoring your confusion at my silence. I paged through the rest of the album, asking you every question I could think of. I wanted to enjoy that time with you and I only trusted myself to speak. I didn't trust your words or your actions because they only made me fall deeper in love. That's something I couldn't possibly allow.

Isn't it strange, Peter, how sometimes, we come to a point on our lives where we think that nothing could go wrong? That everything that could already have gone wrong already did, so that's it? No more surprises?

Well, that was that moment for me. I'd reached rock-bottom and the only thing to do from there was go uphill. I could make the most of every day and die happy, right?

I was wrong.

I told you before.

Time is evil, Peter.

Pure evil.