Never fall in love with someone who has a terminal disease.
I know how it sounds. But let's face it. It's a good rule to live by. You'll be saving yourself a lot of wasted time and heartbreak. Not to mention the thousands of dollars that would have been lost paying for medical expenses, and then the therapy bills for cleaning up the colossal mess you made for yourself. Falling in love with someone who's dying is like keeping a ticking time bomb as a pet. You know it's going to go off sometime. And when it does, it's going to destroy everything around it. Then you will be left to fix all the things that were broken because you couldn't defuse the situation before it was too late.
This is the only rule I've ever lived by. At least, it was the only rule I'd been living by for the past four years. Let's just put it this way. My mom died. Leukemia. And when I was twelve, I was diagnosed with the same thing. Stage two. As soon as my diagnosis was down on paper, I just knew. I knew exactly where my life was headed.
So, yeah. I'd pretty much given up on trying to fall in love. Or anything else, for that matter. I knew my life would be ending soon enough. And I wasn't about to put someone through all of the bullshit that I was still struggling to get over.
But when it all came down to it, I guess I didn't really have a choice.