UNDER EXTREME EDITING!!!!
Life doesn't require that we be
the best, only that we try our
best. So, what would you want
to do with your last year on earth?
created: June 15th 2017
completed: November 21st 2017
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— Aria's point of view —
Mornings. The time of day that had never been my favourite.
The bed I slept in always felt so much more welcoming in the morning, like it was asking me to stay tucked into it, begging me not to leave. The sheets, which the night before had felt so suffocating, had arisen a new, warmer feeling which made me want to nestle down into them rather than be presented with the cold air of my bedroom. I was a stereotypical teenage girl and I hated the thought of waking up in a morning and having to get out of bed.
When I awoke that morning, of my own accord for a change rather than forcefully being brought around from sleep by either my parents or Jack, I immediately startled to realise I wasn't alone - I was confused, and quite wary, as I had no memory of falling asleep beside somebody and was almost fully prepared to start hitting the person beside me in self-defence, before I realised that it was just Jack, somebody who would never cause me any harm. I allowed my body to relax, the memory from last night flooding back to me of when he had called to let me know he was on his way to see me. I must've fallen asleep before he'd even had the chance to get here.
Stretching myself out across the sheets, allowing my stiff and rigid joints to relax and align once more, I had underestimated the actual size of my bed a tad as I narrowly missed Jack's head with my hand - I turned myself over onto my side to face him and he was still flat out, his breathing thin and narrow as he dozed and I was ultimately perplexed by how beautifully arranged he was.
His hair was ruffled messily from his night's sleep, the strands sticking together in the way they do when a wash is overdue - in another time and place, he could have been one of those prep-school boys with their year-round tans, but in the then and there, while he lay asleep in my room, he was a small step from vagrancy. His locks were lazily ruffled, the brown tips haphazardly pushed so they intertwined into beautiful chaos.
My heart thumped in accordance with his slow, shallow breaths as I lay there beside him, soaking up his presence. Serenity was plastered across his face as he slept. At peace, his consciousness swirled in the land of dreams, oblivious to the physical world. I had always admired how beautiful he became when he slept. There was always a beauty that surrounded him anyways, but when he slept things were enlightened in his features - there was an essence of peace, something which nowadays he could never truly find within the stress of a normal day.
He'd been nothing but anxious since my diagnosis had been confirmed terminal. None of the boys had really been completely relaxed either, always on edge when something went down-hill and holding their breaths whenever I didn't feel right in fear that it could be something serious. They were always around too, always there to make sure I was okay, even on a day where I felt completely fine - I would even go as far as calling them more advanced versions of my parents.
