Epilogue

One more day.

One more day to feel, to hate, to love, to live.

One more day to be with him.

She felt his hands around her waist; firm, yet warm and gentle and loving.

She felt his tears drip slowly onto her head; faint, yet persistent.

She felt his heart breaking, realizing this was the last time he would hold her in his arms.

She felt herself being enchanted by his smell, mesmerized by his eyes, fascinated by his voice, and captivated by his touch.

She felt herself falling in love with him all over again.

When she was younger, she would often wonder what the point of life was. Everyone and everything seemed so insignificant compared to the infinite universe.

But as time went on, and she grew, and got wiser, and persevered through everything that this odd yet completely amazing life gave her, she finally figured it out.

Maybe, quite possibly, everyone and everything was insignificant.

But if there was just one person, whether it be a stranger, relative, friend, or lover, that believed in you and respected you and made you feel the least bit important, well...life was certainly worth living if you could make an impact on someone else's life.

She silently prayed that she had made hopefully a positive impact on someone's life. Maybe her life wasn't a complete fail after all.

Did she blame him for not curing her, like he promised, when they were both juvenile and gullible and completely oblivious to practically everything?

Of course not. And although she would be eternally grateful for his effort, she wouldn't have taken the elixir if he had found it.

Why would she want to live forever when life has so much more meaning with tragedies and loss and compassion?

Was she upset about dying?

Well, everyone has to go at some point, right? The only thing that held her back was him, of course. She knew she wouldn't be able to live without him, so she could only imagine how he would be when she was gone.

One more hour.

One more hour to feel, to hate, to love, to live.

One more hour to be with him.

No sappy speeches or last minute passionate kisses.

All she has to do is look him in the eye to hear every single thing he wants to say.

All she has to do is look at his mouth to feel his kisses, his love, his passion.

All she has to do is look at his hand to feel his touch, his warmth, his comfort.

Everyone's life is a story, each one personalized and unique. Each one having three sections: beginning, middle, end.

Or, if you say it in life terms: you're born, you live, you die.

Some people's middles are a lot longer than others.

Hers is short; all she can hope for is that his is long.

The feeling she felt at that moment is indescribable, as it can not fit into one specific category and therefore cannot be classified as just one emotion.

It was a million different feelings, all bundled together into one and producing something more epic than anyone could ever imagine: hope.

Hope that she would be okay, that he would be okay, and that someday, they would meet again.

One more minute.

One more minute to feel, to hate, to love, to live.

One more minute to be with him.

There are no more tears; they are passed that, passed the despair and the fear and the hopelessness.

She's never felt better than she does at that moment, because she knows she's going out with a bang.

She knows that she is loved, that she did not waste her time here on Earth, and that she will be remembered.

She knows that he knows this too, so she closes her eyes and breathes her last, finally feeling content, at peace.

One more second.

One more second to feel, to hate, to love, to live.

One more second to be with him.

I was looking through my stories last night and I realized I really had to give you guys an ending to this one, no matter how late. I started writing this at 11:45 last night, and I finished around midnight. I don't know if I've ever written something like this so quickly before. Hope you enjoyed, hope you forgive me, and maybe hope you cried. :)