"I love you," she said, no strings attached, but the words tugged at my heart all the same. She was about to leave; was there anything she couldn't love? She had every right and reason to hate everything if she had wanted to.

I often wonder if I would ever lose the sense for beauty, and worry that I would come to a point where I am no longer humbled by majestic forests and grand sunsets. Life grinds us down, it seems, but she laughed and loved in the face of death.

Was 30 minutes enough for her to conclude that I was worthy of those three words? the three words that had not left my own lips since I decided a while ago that love makes us weak, and furthermore that announcing it makes us most vulnerable. But what is there not to love?

She was counting down the minutes she had left, moments remaining in her life. The clock was ticking, and to her each second sounded louder than the last. An exercise like that is in itself scary enough, and in contrast to a definite end, a timeless sentiment like love would seem to me too overwhelming to even consider. Yet she fearlessly embraced it, offering it on her hands though they were weakened by an internal battle, a war waged by her body against itself.

I love you. Three simple words. It caught me off guard somehow. Maybe it was because I wasn't expecting it, or because I didn't think I deserved it.

It's funny, sometimes, how life touches another. Maybe that's how we all live forever in a way.