Dear Friend,...

On the cool midsummer night of my 17th birthday, I died.

Ever since I was a child, I was diagnosed with a rare, incurable disease. By the time I was a junior in high school, I fell so ill that I was bedridden in the hospital for months.

At first, you used to visit me everyday to tell me everything that was happening at school. After a few months, your visits went from days to weeks, weeks to months, then finally none.

A few months into my stay at the hospital, the doctor was talking with my mother.

'She might not live. I'm very sorry, Ma'am.' In reality, I knew I was going to die soon.

I'd always look out the window, hoping you would appear at my doorway and call my name. Like a scene in the movies, I would be too surprised to say anything, but smile and we'd talk as if there was nothing wrong. Really, I still am a child.

Other classmates came to tell me how school was going and eventually, it lead to the topic of how you had a very good friend that you were always with. No matter how much it hurt me, I thought it was a good thing - she could take my place after I leave.

One day, after my classmates stopped visiting me and my family rarely came, I took out the stationary paper from the side table and a pen. In the letter, I had planned to tell you how much you meant to me and how I've always appreciated you. The more I thought of what I should say and how I should say it, the more at a lost for words I was.

My heart that was racing before, while thinking of all the things you did for me, had started to slow down. As I put the tip of my pen down to write the heading of the letter, my body felt tired and my eyes were drooping down like drapes. I leaned my back on the pillow as I heard the CPU machine's beeping quicken.

As I took a last glimpse on the paper that read, "Dear Friend," I smiled. I wonder what it was about that word?

A droplet of salty water slid down my cheek as I heard the nurse race in. With a grin etched on my face, the sound of the CPU went dead.