“I want him to live,” he says.I watch, helpless, as the pain slips out.Tears fallwhen he whispers, “But damn it, I want to live, too.”

“If anything,he sparkeda fireinside of me,making me want to live again.”

“Today there's no one here, so I find a rock and open my notebookfilled with letters to Lucca,reading them,noticing how the lettersdecreased in frequencyover the past couple of months.When i started,shortly after he died,I wrote them every day.I hurt so bad, I wanted to scream,but I couldn't,so my words on the pagebecame a diary of the pain.”

“I don't want to worryI don't want to be sadI have so much to be happy about”

“He was a character.A character who should still be here. Damn it all to hell.He should still be here.”

“How many days was I like that? Pretending to listen, but not hearing a word? Pretending to care when I hated it all? Pretending to live when I was dying inside?”

“It brings me back to the moment, and I want to livethe moment with everything I’ve got.”