Three months was all it took for my world to take a total three-sixty on me as if my world was crumbling around me and I was hanging on by a thread. Everything was fine before this, but I always had that nagging feeling in the back of my head, that life was going way too perfectly for it to be real. As if all this perfection and goodness was just leading up to a miserable, horrible down spiral. Some may call me an pessimist, but I'd like to think of myself as a realist.
    We had know each other our whole lives and when you find a constant in your life, you just start expecting it to be there forever, but that wasn't the case for us. I can still remember the day you told me that you only had three months, four at best. In that moment, we agreed to make the best of what ever time we had left. To never say no and throw ourselves completely into experiencing.
    We wrote a bucket list, consisting of 5 things: take a road trip (the destination and route doesn't matter), be in two places at once, do slam poetry, binge watch all the seasons of How I Met Your Mother, and go camping where the city lights could not wash out the stars. And that's how I found myself with my head stuck outside a car window and the wind running through my hair, turning it into a tangled bird's nest. That's how I found myself lying across the state border between California and Oregon, staring up at the stars with my hand tightly grasped in yours. And that's how I finally found myself here. At your bedside, with my hand still holding on to yours, but this time a didn't feel your comforting grip on mine, instead I felt your cold hands, a stark contrast to your usual warm ones. Your mom stood behind me, dried tears streaks staining her cheeks.
    "It's time to let go." I knew that she was right, but I didn't want to accept the reality that you were gone. I knew you weren't coming back, but those last three months together would keep me company when you couldn't so I stood up and let go.