Ivan was dying. I knew this. I watched the luminous complexion and adorable smile drain from this beautiful person and fade away into nothing but paling, apathetic pain. The person I fell in love with was gradually peeling away, leaving behind this sickly stranger. While every day I observed his motivation for life weaken, I noticed something; whenever I entered a room, he would muster up all of his strength to push up the corners of his dry lips. Ivan put all of his effort into looking lively for me, even on the brink of mortality. I respected this and cherished every second I could catch a glimpse of his withering smile. Nothing in the world makes me happier.

We have been dating for eight months now. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two months in. The disease crept in like molasses, destroying him both physically and mentally. Soon enough, the bad days outweighed the good ones and what was left of the already much damaged man was blown away like sand from his hands. Yet I still cling onto my lover, praying with the bitter end of my hope.

Today was yet another black bead in the necklace of bad days. Ivan lay propped up against his wooden headboard, his thinning blonde locks sticking to the sweat on his forehead. I cracked open his door and tiptoed in. We live together now, and I have taken on the role of his primary caretaker. I took my counted, cautious steps across the floor and made my way to the foot of his bed. He patted the comforter in a gesture for me to climb up next to him, which I did. I scooched beside him and gave his near limp hand a squeeze. He turned his head towards me and lightly kissed my temple.

"I wrote you a song, Yao-Yao...!" Ivan half-chimed.

"Really?" I asked.

"Mmhmm! Could you fetch me my violin, please? So I may play it for you?" Ivan requested. I swung my legs over the bed and opened the closet door to retrieve his now dusty, old, violin. He had such a passion for the instrument, and quite a talent too. However he hid this gift from the world, and only occasionally brought it out to play something for me or his sisters. I blew a gust of air over it and passed it over, along with the rosin. Ivan fiddled with it in his hands, trying to get a feel for it once more. He smiled nervously at me, and the first bit of harmony let loose.

At moments in the song, he became so into it that a few words of Russian slipped out. I leaned against his broad shoulder and listened to the sweet synthesis of his voice and the violin. It was beautiful. The sound of his hushed lyrics and melodic notes were almost as perfect as he was. I loved it. I loved him. As the last glistening note of the tune came to a fading close, I bent over and kissed his now fragile lips. He scrounged up enough energy to return the touch with a beam across his face. He ran his fingers along a strand of my raven-colored hair and examined it like it was a piece in a museum. Just with the look in his eyes, I could see how much he didn't want to go.

Ivan passed away two weeks later.