November 22nd 1986
I went to see the doctor again this morning. After he told me that I'm sicker than he thought, I came home and cleaned, for you. Since you left, the house slowly became a dump and I know I'm the one who is the clean freak. I guess you could say I've lost a lot of motivation to do stuff when you're not here.
You didn't even notice when you came home that it was any different than when you left.
I shouldn't have cleaned. Maybe I could have told you then.
I can tell you here though, you'll probably read these soon anyway.
Zachary Morgan. I love you. I'm dying. You just came home from war and I'm the one who is dying. Funny, huh? You must have really paid attention to survive. I'm glad. I don't know what I did, if anything, to be the one with cancer. I wanted the rest of time with you, Zach. The rest of my life will just have to be enough, then.
Love,
Lewis
YOU ARE READING
The 2,000 Letters
Short StoryHe wrote 2,000 letters. One every day since they met. For 2,000 days. And not a day longer.
