I find your journal among other objects, a dusty brass snow-shaker, your typewriter and a sneaky packet of liquorice. It feels a little like a trespass but maybe not so much when I know you - knew you inside out. At least we'd had time to figure this illness out together, time to attempt to prepare ourselves for the day that would come sooner rather than later.
I tremble as I gingerly flick the pages and then on the date of his terminal diagnosis, I recall with a sniff to clear my tears, I find some post-it notes, a reminder -
Daisy - I love you, okay? I know, baby, I know it will not be long now, I know it's hard, I know I'll hang on with all I've got for as long as I can. But the day will come when you will see this and I won't be with you. I don't want to leave you, not like this, not lonely and upset.
I've had the time of my life knowing you and it's a huge injustice to have this cut short but remember it all, the good times and don't be afraid to move on and love again.
I love you. It'll be alright, I promise.
I'll be with you if only in spirit.
I shut my eyes against the torrent of tears threatening to flood my cheekbones and I hold the notes close to my chest, folded and I nod. This is what I needed.