It affects one in every three people. What happens if your boyfriend is the one?
You're dying. Cancer, they call it. It's slowly taking over your whole body and will soon leave you lifeless on an uncomfortable hospital bed. You are pale, your skin almost yellow. Your eyes are greying, and I'm longing to see the bright hazel of your eyes one last time. I know I won't though. I know that soon enough you will leave me and I will have to go on alone. The doctors say it started as lung cancer, from your smoking, but soon escalated into mouth cancer too. It shouldn't even be called cancer; that word doesn't describe the pain and suffering it causes its victims. Instead they should name it something with feeling, with meaning, the disease that will kill you slowly and you don't have much of a chance of escaping it. Something like that. You're laying alone in a bright white room for every minute of the day. The only company you seem to get is from me and your brother. We both work though, and it's hard to see you as often as we'd like to. The doctors say you have weeks left, if that. You find it hard to talk, but the words you do utter are confusing, they don't make sense. You have told me you would like to be buried in all your favourite colours. You will not let me kiss you, or even touch you. The long black hair I loved so much is gone and is replaced by a few deathly white coloured strands. I count every day you are still with us, I reach the two week mark and realise that you'll be gone any day soon. I can't even think it, it hurts so much. I tell you goodbye every day I see you just in case it's your last. I want you to know that I will always be true. The last time I saw you I told you this, and that I loved you. You whispered so quietly 'the hardest part of this is leaving you'. The next day I returned only to find out that you had died one hour earlier.