Thanks, Janice, for dissecting and commenting on my post!

Maybe I agree that sickness forces us to mature, and so therefore Vikram is so foreward, because he is sick. But so am I!! I may only be 14, but socially people say I act older. Sure, I look 14, but I don't always act it.
Anyway! Day nine. A bit mixed, to be honest. The sun was streaming through my window at some rediculous hour (too early) which completely woke me up (must remember to draw the blinds), so I spent the rest of the night (lol) listening to Chopin again.
Anyway, at about seven-ish, there was this really soft knock at the door, followed by a really quiet voice, going "Hey, Remy, you awake?". So I let him in (you guessed it - it was indeed Vikram), and he wandered over to the window. I was like standing there in this really tiny black lace nightie, with all my hair messed up (it's white-blonde naturally!).
Anyway, so Vikram takes a deep breath, and then he says "I have to be honest with you Remy." Then he turns around to look at me.
"I have never felt quite like I do right now, at this very moment, with you, EVER before. That sounds a little silly, and maybe over-dramatic, but hey that's how I feel. I can understand you if you say you never want me to talk to you again. I can understand if you reject me. You can stop me from seeing you but you can't stop me from loving you."
After this little outburst I am quite literally speechless, but he goes on:
"And you may think that even if we did give it a go, it would be pointless anyway because sooner or later one of us would leave the clinic, be it on a train or in a plastic bag. But let me tell you one thing - I will still be here if you leave. I could stay here infinately, because nothing ever works. But in eight weeks or whenever when you leave, I'll leave with you."
Quite touching, so I say "But then you won't get better. It's not worth it."
"I won't get better anyway," he sighs. "But it is worth it, if i get to spend my last months with you, Remy." And then he walks up to me, looking me in the eye the whole time, and lifts my chin and kisses me in such a feeling and passionate way that all doubt of his love is erased from my mind. And so we stay like this for minutes, hours, days, years, a lifetime; eternity. Who knows? And can I really let him into my life like this?
And then he is gone, and I am back with Chopin, and my duvet, and my cough. And my fears, and hopes, my desires and my tears.
I'll keep you posted,
Remy
