Dear Jake,

Look. I know I'm dying. Believe me, I know. My skin is pale, you can see the dark circles under my eyes. My hair is gone. I can barely move my body. And my stomach pains keep getting worse and worse. Surgery? That was an option. But the risk of dying was more, and full recovery wasn't guaranteed. So yeah. I'm dying. Slowly dying. I don't want to tell you, because...well, you'll probably freak out. So it's better that I write it, and when the time comes, you can see these letters. Oh, got to go. Doctor is coming in.

Bye,

Kennedy

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