Death bed.

“What do you do when the person you love doesn’t love you back?” She asked. She was holding a burning cigarette in her fingers, and she tilted back a bottle of wine.
“You keep loving them.” I said. “Because love is like a disease. You don’t get to decide when to stop. You don’t get to make that choice.” I knew she was thinking about him. But I was thinking about her. And my disease was terminal. The worst part? I knew she wouldn’t be at my death bed".