Heart Full of Stars

Why do bad things always happen to good people? The whole existence of this world is based on the fact that life is unpredictable. We're supposed to just live with that? I would much rather be told when I die and how I die so I could prepare for it.

Veronica would've wanted to know earlier also. We both were young lovers (but I always wanted to be something more). She had just made it to the halfway point of her high school career when she was diagnosed.

When the treatments didn't work, and Veronica was done with losing her hair, she decided to stop all treatment. Her mother pleaded, but Veronica was in too much pain. Surprisingly, Veronica lived to walk up on stage in her gown and graduated with fair grades (With the help of me, of course).
And this is where our story begins.

Veronica had always wanted to get out of the small town she had grown up in her whole life, Clinton. I had moved a lot growing up, but I spent my last three years of high school in Clinton. We both begged our parents and, with the last drop of teenage angst we had, we packed up and booked two one-way tickets to San Francisco, California.
Veronica had only been on a plane once to visit family in Texas, but she was very young. Her heart raced as we boarded the plane, but I reminded her that she was going to be okay. She trusted me, and I trusted her.

She slept the whole flight while I kept watch on her. The doctor said she had a short time left to live, so I had to cherish every moment I had with her. Her heartbeat was soft, but her heart was bigger than any other human beings. She was beautiful on the inside and outside. She always helped others and put herself second. I secretly used to help her any way I could. I would put her binders back in her bag if she forgot. I would bring her breakfast on days she was busy. It was the small things.

Veronica told me that she had always wanted to be a journalist when she was younger. So, we bought the thickest notebook we could find in the airport convenience store. The total was 14.92 but did we care, not at all. Our plan was to write our stories on the trip and keep them so we would never forget.
The airport was crowded, but we didn't care. We held hands and walked happily down the terminal. Her smile was so big it could fill the whole room with the feeling of happiness. Even when she was in her roughest times she would still smile.

Finding a hotel wasn't simple either, but we eventually found a small motel not far from the ocean. The bathroom smelled like bleach and the covers were crusty, but did we care? No. We were just happy that we were together.

Veronica and I spent every morning on that beach. For breakfast we would go to a bakery down by the beach owned by a nice woman named Jasmine. It wasn't just because it was cheap, it was because Jasmine had that sort of "go-get-em" attitude that made everyone love her. She even memorized our orders. Mine being a coffee with hazelnut creamer and a bagel and Veronica's being a glazed donut with orange juice. Jasmine nicknamed us Bagel and OJ.

During the day, we would either explore the city or spend time on the beach. Veronica tanned while I built sandcastles for her. Everyday it would be a new design. I built the castles that I would want us to live in. There would be a room for us, a room for the kid(s), a big backyard for a dog and a spacious kitchen we could cook dinner in every night.

We visited every tourist spot in the town. Fisherman's Wharf was my favorite while Chinatown was Veronica's. One day we even traveled down to Los Angeles to see its sights. As we sat at the Hollywood sign, I looked at Veronica, and she looked at me. My whole world was complete. She was my everything. I wanted to marry her, to love her, to have children with her, to cherish her, to respect her, to grow old with her, and die with her.

The days started getting shorter, and the sun started setting earlier. Veronica started having trouble breathing, so walking the boardwalk was out of the question. Jasmine delivered our breakfast to our motel so Veronica could rest. Veronica told me constantly to go and see the city, but I wouldn't leave her side. She started losing weight and her appetite was getting smaller.

One day, she looked to me and asked "Why have you stayed with me knowing that I'm a ticking bomb waiting to explode?" I responded saying that without her I wouldn't have a purpose. Nothing to love, nothing to look forward too, nothing to say hello to every morning.

Veronica loved the Golden Gate Bridge. I would pick her up from bed every night and drive her to it, pushing her in a wheelchair. We sat down, leaning against the rail, looking up at the stars. They all had a story millions of year in the making. Why was mine ending so soon?

It was as if I was expecting it, like something was in the air. Veronica shook me gently one night and we went straight to the hospital. I wasn't prepared. I still wanted more time. I wanted more sandcastles, more orange juice, more walks, more sunsets. She was my everything, my purpose.

As she lied in that hospital bed, I looked into her beautiful eyes. The ones that I would get lost in during science class. She held out her hand, shakily. I grabbed it and didn't let go. The tears running down my face created a puddle on the cold floor. She put my hand on top of her heart and said "This heart will always love you. This heart is the heart that is full of the memories we created. Never forget them."

Her heartbeat slowed, and she gasped for one last breath. She wasn't afraid, but I was. The beeping of the monitors ceased and her face went soft. Her grip went weak, but mine didn't. I cried on top of her for what seemed like hours.

Years later, I look back at these memories in happiness, not sadness. I remember the good parts. The morning strolls, the sandcastles, the orange juice, the sunset, the bridge and the stars.
I traveled back to San Francisco with her ashes and the memory book. I spread her ashes over the bay, watching them fall into the water. I never really got to write down any memories in the memory book since she hogged it

I opened the first page, and every day she wrote down three words. They weren't stories. They weren't pictures. They weren't doodles.

There were three simple words.

"Never forget me"

I never did, Veronica. I never did.