Dear Peter,

We're getting close to the end.

I don't know what you'll decide to do when you receive these letters. Maybe you'll open them, maybe you won't. If you don't, I won't hold it against you. I'm doing this because I need you to know why we ended up this way.

Mom always told me that I was strong like my grandmother. Now, as I sit here, staring at this stack of letters, I realize that I am a coward.

I'm not strong enough to face you. The thing is that I don't know what you're doing these days. Maybe you've moved on. Maybe you've found a girl who isn't going to break your heart, and I truly, sincerely hope that you have.

I'm doing this so that I can be free of my guilt. I need to know that you'll find some way to forgive me. It's difficult to move on from something that I never even got the chance to call mine, but I'm trying. I promise you, I am. If I die tonight, I need to you to know that not a day goes by that I don't think about your eyes.

Science said I had a year to live, but that was two years ago. I'm getting better, Peter. Not cancer-free, but better. There are very rare cases in which someone lives beyond their prognosis, and a lot of times, they live a full, happy life. Honestly, Peter, I don't think that you need to live to be eighty in order to have lived a happy life. You just need the right people and the right memories.

I don't know what my future holds for me. All I know is that every day, I awake not fearing that it would be my last, but instead to the thought: what if?

What if I had stayed with You?

Although I didn't die biologically, my heart did on the night that I left.

It was the night of your championship match. I begged you not to fight, but you had made your choice.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" I asked Zoya as she finished zipping up her final bag. Zoya was going home for a bit. I was coming home permanently. New York City no longer had anything to offer us. Since I was sick, I needed to spend time with Mom and Dad. Zoya wanted to do the same with her Mom.

"I'll be fine," she smiled weakly, " It's you I'm worried about."

She had been by my side for everything. Treatments, nights I'd stay awake due to either being ill or my thoughts haunting me, and I had done the same for her. Charlie was still in a coma. We didn't know how long he'd be this way, but each second was haunting.

I shook my head, bringing my frail arms up to tie my hair.

"I'll be fine. You'll visit, right?"

Zoya walked over and wrapped her arms around my neck in a sweet embrace.

"Every weekend," she said, her eyes shining with tears. Her hometown in Virginia was only two hours from my home. It wasn't going to be hard to meet up. We would also be seeing each other during visits to Charlie.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked once she saw my distant eyes focused on the clock on the wall.

I sighed, leaning back against the couch. Tonight was the night you had been training for for years.The big fight.

"I wonder if he'll win tonight."

I swallowed hard, ignoring the way that my throat ached with the movement.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" She asked, sighing as she adjusted the bags that hung from her shoulders.

"Don't worry about me, you'll miss your flight."

I playfully pushed her towards the door, making sure to give her one last hug. I watched her walk out of our apartment, leaving behind the amazing memories we'd made living together. She turned and blew me a kiss before stepping into the elevator.

Just like that, I was all alone. It was me and the apartment, which seemed way too big now that Zoya had left. I knew I'd miss the city. I was going to fly back to visit Charlie, I knew I was, but something just wouldn't be the same.

I didn't notice when a tear began rolling down my cheek. My gaze once again was drawn towards the clock. 7:00 p.m. Your match was going to begin in half an hour.

I tightened the straps of my backpack and picked up the other two bags of luggage, groaning because of their weight. They weren't that heavy. I was just weak.

Nostalgia was immanent in my mind as I walked down the hallway that brought me happiness, tears, and new friendships. It was my home. And saying goodbye to your home isn't easy.

My mind was numb as I walked out of the building and into the night. My eyes scanned the street until finally I saw Mom waving to me, half of her body sticking out of the car's window.

I hadn't even left NYC yet and I was already missing you. I felt like I could see your face wherever I turned. Hear your voice clear as crystal in my mind. It took me a minute to realize that I really was hearing your voice.

"Lucy!"

My grip on the handle loosened and my bag fell to the ground and right into a puddle, making water splash onto my jeans. I didn't care.

I turned around.

There you stood, hair dripping wet from running in the rain, hands on your hips as you panted, out of breath. I blinked. And again, unable to comprehend that you really were standing there.

"Lucy," you whispered, your wide eyes scanning me from head to toe, taking in the luggage by my feet. Wrinkles appeared in your forehead as you shook your head in confusion.

It was difficult to make out your expression; whether that was because of the tears blurring my vision or the pouring rain--I'm not sure.

"Peter?" I stayed in place, my feet unable to move. I looked back at Mom, who had now retreated back into her car, and then at you.

"What are you doing here? The match..."

You shook your head and began to walk towards me, every step making my heart heavier, until you stood close enough that I could see what seemed to be tears glistening in your eyes. You shook your head, drops of water flying out of your hair.

"I can't fight," you said softly, your dark eyes locked onto mine, "I don't want to anymore."

The clouds roared and people scurried around us, trying keep from getting drenched by the unforgiving rain. We stood in place. Shivers racked my body, but I didn't dare move. My lips were frozen, unable to form any words.

"You did this Lucy," You said, a small smile conquering your face, "I said I wouldn't let you into my life, but you somehow found a way in, and you changed me."

I shook my head, unable to fathom a response of any sort. I was supposed to be leaving. Why was this happening to me? You placed your hands on either side of my face, pushing my wet hair behind my ears.

"My entire life, I've hated love. I didn't want anything to do with it," your voice shook with your words, "And then you came along. I don't want to fight, and I don't want to be angry anymore."

My hands reached up and rested on your shoulders. Your eyes were boring into mine, searching violently for emotions that they could not find.

"I just want to be with you."

More thunder. Another bolt of lightening, but this one straight to my heart.

"I love you."

Your hands fell from where they were cradling my face. Your eyes spoke to me in languages I had yet to learn, but never would.

I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so, so sorry.

The clouds shed many tears that night, but nothing compares to the desolate wailing of my torn heart as it heard you say the words it had secretly always wanted to hear. Everything about that night told me not to leave. It told me to stay with you, to tell you that I loved you, to say that nothing I'd ever known was so unnatural yet made so much sense at the same time.

We were day and night, Peter. You'd finally let your stars illuminate your soul, and I couldn't be the one to take that away from you. My daylight was fading away, slowly but surely. I didn't want you to watch me wither away, but I also didn't want to wither away without your face being the final thing I ever see. I wanted to remember every inch of it.

That night, little droplets of rain found home on your eyelashes and competed in a race down to your lips. I wanted to say it, Peter. I did, but my mind was holding my heart hostage. It was screaming with the words that Daisy had said.

If you care about him, you'll leave.

I picked up the bag from where it had fallen onto the ground. I took one step back, the sound of my heart thumping ringing in my ears.

Your perplexed eyes were now cast onto my bags. Before, you'd been radiating. Now, it seemed that the dark clouds of the night had engulfed  you and made you their prisoner.

"Where are you going?"

I could almost hear the sound of your heart breaking through your voice.

"I have to go. I'm sorry."

I kept my gaze averted, hoping that you wouldn't be able to see the pain in my eyes.

You stepped closer, wrapping a hand around my wrist, sending chills down my spine.

"Where?"

You were lost, broken, and everything in between. I wanted to tell you where I was going, but I truthfully did not know myself. Sure, I was going home, but I was leaving everything behind with you.

"Take care, Fighter."

With those three words and a million questions unanswered, I pulled my wrist back from your grip. I walked away from a future I yearned to have. I left you standing in the rain as cars passed and people didn't care to spare a second glance at the broken boy drowning in a mixture of the rain and his tears.

You were right not to trust anyone, Peter; You were right all along.

We trust people and end up with nothing but pain and broken promises scattered around our feet, sometimes indistinguishable from the pieces of broken hearts.

I still wonder, to this day:

Did I play my cards wrong? Was I wrong to believe in the good in the world? I was naive, and maybe that was my undoing.

All my life, I thought that if I loved the world unconditionally, it would love me back.

I had been trying to fix you, not knowing that all along, I was losing myself. Within the blink of an eye, I made a mess of my love and yours.

When I die, I need you to know something:

I've never cared for anyone, or anything as much as I care for you. That night, I may have cut myself off from you, but my heart still lives somewhere on that sidewalk, unable to find its way back to the abyss in my chest.

This is two years late, but I need you to know that I love you, Peter. Almost as much as I love the rain, flowers, the stars; I love you more than the day aches for night.

Since that night, my heart and my thoughts have been silenced, yet to be awoken by something they don't know they're waiting for.

I don't expect you to forgive me, but you should know.

I'm sorry for leaving you; I'm sorry for teaching you how to love; and I'm sorry for loving you.

I've told you our story. Now, we await the ending. The ending is in your hands.

So, for now,

Goodbye, Peter.

Your dearest,

Lucy