To my dearest, most treasured friend:
If you're reading this now, I'll assume the worst. I can't help but wonder at what exactly happened to my physical form - from your perspective. Did I supernova and disappear a violent flash of heat and light, or did I fade away quietly into thin air - like the shining particle of dust that floats it's gentle way into shadow? I guess I'll never know. No matter, that is not at all the purpose of this letter, and besides that there would be no way of informing me at this point.
In any case, since it's likely that I'm returned to my own time, I feel confident enough in demanding that you to worry little for my sake. It's the only thing I'll ever ask of you. Think on it, you'll realize I'm right. Ah - I'm picturing now the frustrated look on your face. I can see your drawn brows clearly in my mind, the deepening color of your hazel eyes. The vision brings a smile to my face. Actually, it turns out I've lied. I'm going to make another demand. I'm going to tell you to 'chill', as you like to say. It's the only sensible thing left to do, omitting the impossible.
You have to live on, for my sake. I simply refuse to picture you doing otherwise. For me, in essence, to be the cause of your agony is not something that I can bear. Please believe that it was never my intention to harm you. Ha! - It was never my intention to meet you at all. But as fate would have it I became a disruption to your life, and somehow from this seed of irritation we became fast friends. Sometimes - more often of late - I ask myself "How could this possibly have happened?" But in the end, despite the fact that this whole situation defies the laws of logic and science on which I've wasted years of my life, I'm glad it did. I'm really glad it did.
Did I ever tell you that I've had a copy of your photograph for as long as I can remember? I found it in the attic of my grandfather's old house, ancient monstrosity that it was. In a dusty leather trunk, tossed blindly in a corner, tucked into a slit in the fabric of the lid. For some reason I found it heartwarming, and carried it away from that darkened place. I felt, then and now, that it needed to be in the light - And, moreover, that I needed it close to me. Funny, that. But there's a reason for everything, I suppose ...
And now you're wondering, what exactly is the purpose of this letter? I scold myself for rambling on, but I can't seem to help it. Even writing the words that I've been trying to say for the last four paragraphs - no, four months, is extremely nerve-wracking. I've never- Ah. My hand is shaking.
I guess what I'm trying to tell you is, from the day we first met to today, and onward to the end of my life - although you may not understand or reciprocate it, although there's nothing I can do about it - I have loved and always will love you.
To leave without telling you - without hearing your reply - was my one selfishness. And for that, I am truly sorry.
Forgive me.
Yours, always.
Marco Bott