Just a random idea I had... I don't know if it's any good as it only took me about half an hour to write. I hope it's okay anyway.

You said that you hated yourself. Your hair was too straight, your face was too freckled, your nose was too straight, you were too fat.

Fat.

That's what you always said you were.

Fat.

But I thought you were beautiful – the way your dark hair spilled over your shoulders, the way your big eyes shone when you smiled, the way my hands fit perfectly around your tiny waist.

You were perfect and I loved you.

I told you that, but you laughed it off. Behind the laugh I could see hurt in your brown eyes, and I wondered why. You said I didn't love you. No one did.

I hugged you and you pushed me away. You said you didn't want me to feel how fat you were.

I told you that you were tiny, that you were fading away, that one day you would wake up – only it wouldn't be you waking up because there would be nothing left of you.

You said I was ridiculous, but behind your scornful eyes there was a tiny bit of pride. I almost think that you liked the idea of there being nothing left of you.

And I was right.

Two months ago you told me for the first time that you were scared. I found you crying outside on my doorstep in the middle of the night. I picked you up and put you on my knees. Even then there was almost nothing left of you. You felt like a child in my arms, so small and fragile, your heart beating through the thin walls of your chest. I could feel it against my body.

I let you sob until you couldn't cry anymore. Then you finally spoke. "I don't want to die."

Tears had come to my eyes. I didn't want you to die either. I held you tighter as you sobbed again. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. I had to be brave. For you.

You told me that you couldn't sleep at night. You were too afraid. You thought that if you went to sleep, your heart might stop and you might never wake again.

So I sat there all night with you in my arms. The sun rose, the birds sang and you slept. Towards the end that was the only place that you would sleep. Anywhere else was too risky. You thought that I could keep you safe – protect you from yourself.

I let you down.

One night I got caught up doing something else. I couldn't be with you. So you slept by yourself. And you never woke up.

It was my fault.

I wasn't there for you.

The doctors said that there was nothing that could have been done. They had tried to feed you, they had tried to save you. Your poor heart had given up in the end though. It couldn't continue on any longer.

I hated the way people whispered behind my back afterwards.

It wasn't even like you committed suicide. It wasn't like you finally said that it was too much for you to take.

But then again, I guess you had been killing yourself slowly over the past year. You knew that's what you were doing. I knew too. I tried to stop it, but I knew that if I pushed too hard then you would push me away completely.

And I wanted to be there for you.

I wonder now if that was the right thing to do. Maybe I should have fought harder. Maybe I should have tried to force you.

But in my heart I know I did the right thing. There were others trying to force you. There were others who were fighting for your life.

I was fighting for your love.

Deep down I think I always knew that you were going to die. I didn't want it. What sort of person do you think I am? But I wanted you to know that you were loved – even though you thought you didn't deserve it. You were loved. You are loved. Wherever you are, I want you to know that I love you.

And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I had to choose between fighting for your love and for your life. But I did what my heart told me, and because of it I'll have to live with the guilt of your death forever.

The last time I saw you was two days before you passed away. You were sitting on the balcony outside your room. That was the furthest that you got from bed those days.

There was a seat there and even though it was a warm day you had a pink cardigan around your shoulders. I saw you sitting there and I came and sat with you. By that point your hair was thin and your skin was almost translucent. Your eyes didn't shine anymore. I knelt in front of you and when I picked your hand up you winced. I looked at your wrist, covered in bruises, the skin see-through. I could see each vein outlined through it.

That day I let myself cry and it was you comforting me, not the other way around. I knew that I should be trying to be strong, but I couldn't take it anymore. That day I realized that there wasn't much time left.

Tears rolled down my cheeks and I took your face in my hands. "I love you," I whispered softly.

You looked at me sadly. "I know. That's the problem."

I looked at you and when you looked back, your dark eyes were filled with sorrow. "You're the only thing that makes me want to live. You're the one that makes me want to beat this monster that's inside of me."

Tears streamed down my face, and you put your cold fingers on my cheeks. You were always cold. Your touch was so gentle that if I hadn't been watching, I would have thought that I had imagined it. I could see that you were fighting against yourself, but in the end you whispered, "Will you help me?"

I nodded wordlessly. "Anything, I'll do anything."

You smiled sadly, "I want you to let me go. Because I know that you loving me will only hurt you in the end."

I bent my head so that it was resting on your knees. "I can't do that. Anything but that."

You bent over me, covering my body with your thin one, your dark hair falling on my face. "Shane," you whispered and I looked up. "Well, if you can't let me go, then love me. Promise me you won't leave me."

I cried harder, shaking my head. Your fingers stroked my head softly, letting me cry. "I love you," you murmured and I looked up again. I knew that you loved me. You showed me in a thousand different ways every day, but you had never said it out loud. You took my face in your hands and bent down. Then your lips were on mine, feather light.

I hardly dared to kiss you back. Anything more than the gentlest touch would break you. When you finally pulled back you were smiling. It was the first smile I had seen on your face in months.

"I love you," you said again. "Because you are kind and good and everything that I wish that I was. I love you because even though I have done this to myself, still you promise to help me."

That day I left you happy for the first time in a long time. The next morning you spoke to me on the phone. You had been able to sleep all night. I was elated. I thought this was a turn for the better.

I don't remember why I couldn't come and see you that day. All I remember is that I didn't.

And I wish I had.

Your momma called me the next morning. Her voice was soft and sad. "She's gone."

I went into shock. I had thought that you would die, but then you had decided to fight it. You were going to fight.

You were going to win.

But you died before you got a chance to live.

So today I am standing here, watching as your coffin is laid into the ground, wondering where you are. Perhaps if you could see me right now then you would be smiling at me.

Perhaps the light rain that is falling is your way of telling me that you love me. Perhaps I'm being selfish. This isn't about me.

Perhaps God had a bigger plan for you than I did – than even you had for yourself.

And perhaps it wouldn't be a sin to smile now as I think about you. Although you might have only spent 16 years on this earth, although I might have only known you for 2 of them, I know that I am blessed that you were in my life.

Some may say your life was a tragedy, but perhaps something good came out of it. Perhaps that good was me.

You have made me into a better person. You have changed me. You have made me into who I am today.

And I love you.

Was that really bad? I thought it was kind of sad and sweet, but I'm not sure how good it was...

Let me know what you think.

xoxo