ella ౨ৎ

“Dear Billy,
I saved your letter for last, because it’s the hardest one to write. Actually, in some ways, it’s the easiest, because you’re the one person who makes everything feel easy, and home is wherever you are, Billy.
I already said a lot of what I needed to say to you. But there’s more.
I haven’t lived so much in twenty-seven years as I have this past week with you. I wish it could last forever, never end.
I know about the song. I know you wrote it about me. I know, Billy.
And I know you think I could never love you back, that we’re not on the same page.
But here’s the thing.
I don’t know if I love you in the same way, not yet, but I think I’m falling, I know what falling feels like. I know you make me feel safe, and I know you make me feel ten feet tall. I know you’re my best friend, always have been. And I think, if we’d had more time, we could have got there. We would have got there. But I also think that if I hadn’t been dying, if we didn’t have this week together, then maybe I never would have seen it. Maybe I would have moved to Boston, forgotten all about you. So I don't know what that means. Maybe it just wasn’t in the stars for us.
You’re the person who gets to live. So live.
I want you to promise me something.
Don’t be scared to love someone else, Billy. And -most important- don’t be scared to be loved back. Because someone will love you back, Billy, I promise. And they’ll figure it out much sooner than I did.
You make sure she’s nice to you, because you’re the best person there is. Tell her I’ll be keeping an eye on her.
So, I think I'm going to die here, in this cell, and we still haven’t figured out who killed me. Still haven’t solved my murder. Which means we failed. Which means this entire week has just been a waste of time.
But was it really a waste of time, if I loved every minute of it?
Love you (and I do, I really think I do)
Jet xx”
― Holly Jackson, Not Quite Dead Yet