Dear Lily,

. . . I don't have anything good to write about. Mom and Dad left to go get food, but I couldn't leave you. They said they'll bring me back a bowl of soup, but unless it's your homemade food, I don't want it. I don't want any more doctors to come in here and tell me your 'condition hasn't changed' or whatever. God, it's like they think you'll magically get better if they watch you long enough.

Lily, I'm scared. I've never been so terrified, and I've never felt this alone. I hear the heart monitor beeping, and I'm so scared that it's going to stop, and those IV drips in your arm are getting lower and no one has come to refill them. Isn't that something people in hospitals are supposed to do?

I'm so scared to lose you, Lily.

I'm so scared.

I'm. . . I'm sorry. . .

I set the paper to the side, shuffling it underneath the other letters and stories. The page with the song on it was at the bottom of the stack, and I kept the other papers in chronological orders, so if Lily woke up, she could read everything I had written.

I put my arm down on her bed, holding her bandaged hand tightly. With my free hand, I lifted the sleeve of her hospital gown. Seeing the finger-shaped bruises on her bicep made me bristle with anger, and I was certain that after I made sure my Dandelion was going to be fine, her father was going to have hell to pay.

I laid my head down on her bed, biting the blanket to keep from screaming in pure fury. Tears were on my face again, and I was sobbing before I even realized it, anguish pounding its way through my veins and into every crevice of my terrified heart. I was so scared, and I felt so lonely and broken. I wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone.

Well, that's a lie. There's one man who deserves this pain and more.

"I'm so sorry, baby," I sobbed. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole to you when we met, I'm sorry I originally gave you your nickname to be mean, I'm sorry I told you that you were a weed, I'm sorry I couldn't look past my own stupid ego to realize I needed help. I'm sorry it took me so long to teach you guitar, and I'm sorry I never came by your house when I was skateboarding. I'm sorry I didn't hold your hand more, and I made fun of you for everything. I'm sorry I let you go to that house alone, and I'm sorry I didn't check up on you before I went to bed. I'm so sorry for everything I've done to you, because you're the most amazing person I've ever met and I don't ever want to live without you. You deserve everything you've ever dreamed of, and a thousand times more, and I'm so sorry that I may never get to give you everything I have to give."

There were fingertips touching my hair. I don't know how long they'd been resting on the top of my head, but there they were. It couldn't be Mom; she was still with Dad in the cafeteria.

I turned my head to the left, and I saw the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and I am convinced that I will never see a more beautiful sight than Dandelion's eyes.

They were opened just a tiny (ahem) fraction, but it was enough. I could see the first glimmers of sunrise reflecting off the hazel flecks, and her lips tilted up a little at the ends. She'd just woken up from a God-awful beating, she was in an unfamiliar place, she must've been hurting like hell, and there was a tube sticking out of her arm, but it didn't seem to matter to her. All she saw was me, and that was enough. Because even though she was all the terrible things I just said after her ordeal, all she saw was me, and she was smiling. The damn girl almost died, and the first thing she does when she sees me is smile. It's just like the beginning all over again, only instead of a library, we're in a hospital room, and there's no sunburn here what-so-freaking-ever. But it was okay. She was alive, and she was smiling. Happy. If my Dandelion was happy, everything was okay.

Her fingers toyed with a chunk of my hair, and for a solid thirty seconds, I was convinced I was dreaming.

Picking my head up, I scooted my chair up so I was by her head. I picked up her hand again and moved her wild and untamable bangs from her eyes. I reached into my jacket that had been discarded on the floor and pulled out Theo the bear, tucking it under her loose arm. She looked down at him, then back at me with one eyebrow raised. I shrugged, feeling idiotic for not remembering poor Theo when I got here. Her smile returned, brighter than the day we'd met.

"Alex?" I'd never heard her voice so small, but it was there, and it was beautiful.

"Dandelion." My voice was a hoarse whisper, and I couldn't talk much louder than I already was because my throat was raw from crying.

She smiled at me. "I forgive you," she whispered, "for all those things you just said, and for all the things I'm sure you'll say sorry for in the future."

I couldn't help the laugh and the smile I let out as I tenderly hugged her. She patted the bed next to her and I happily climbed under the covers with her, contentment taking over my soul as she snuggled into my chest like she did at bedtime when we were home. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her like she would vanish into the sunrise if I let her go.

I'd give her the letters and the stories later, I decided, promising myself that I'd play and sing the song I wrote too. But just then, I was happy to hold her in my arms and feel her chest rise and fall, feeling her heartbeat under her jaw where I cradled her head.

"I love you, my Dandelion."

"I love you, too." A pause, then, "Am I still a weed, Alex?"

I'll admit, her question caught me a bit by surprise. I took a second to look at the bouquet of lilies Mom must have brought, but I hadn't noticed until now. I looked back at her green eyes, still glowing gold in places, and I bent my head down to kiss her as softly as a butterfly's wings on. . . well. . . a lily. I laughed drily. Even now, years later, that dumb comment I made the day we first met was stuck with her.

"You aren't a flower yet, Dandelion."

"No," I told her with all the sincerity in the world. "You're my strong, talented, beautiful, perfect flower."

My Lily.