Everything, everything is holy, Jim! The sand under my feet, the blank, merciless sky overhead, the weak words I use to express this thought to you now. Telepathy is better, but you are not here to touch, and the barrier between us will not let me feel your thoughts until I, too, cross that irrevocable divide. But until then I write in your honor that everything is holy, everything is logical, everything is at once full of infinite potential and pre-ordained. None of this that I say now would have seemed rational to a younger version of myself—I would have disapproved, perhaps classified it as insane. But it is also true that the nature of certain things with which I am now familiar would have deeply troubled me.
Your death, Jim. Your death…Once before, I encountered it, and for a brief time it loomed heavy and dark over my destiny, threatening to shackle my life to despair, and emptiness. But that time, you came back from that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns; it was impossible, but of course, the impossible was always your forte. I am not troubled by your death now, Jim. I see that even the most dreaded of events presents, at once, limitless possibilities and is meant to be. Even the most final of all events, death, is a beginning. In this world of endless cycle, there can be neither true beginnings nor true finality—no absolutes, no ultimates. All the rivers run to the sea, and yet the sea is not full. But we must concede that there are relative endings and beginnings, and that they often coincide. Does not everyone believe, in a totally illogical manner, that defies all observation, that the world will stop, will cease to be, when the one who is to him as you are to me ceases to be? I am slowly becoming more enlightened about the nature of our two lives, and as I do so, I find myself understanding my younger self more and more. I have found that I, too, despite my upbringing and my discipline, once believed that the world would end when you died. But it did not, as it has not for any of the innumerable bereaved lovers in the history of the universe. The bitter injustice, as it then seemed, of that reality did not drive me to self-annihilation, as I thought that it should have. I see now why I clung to life.
When I was a child, I didn't know you, and through most of the years until my maturity I did not know you, but that life prepared me to be the man I was when I met you. It served a purpose. It was holy, as much so as the life I spent with you. After you died, it was still holy, and continues to serve a purpose. Everything I do and see, touch, taste, smell, feel, and think, will be yours when we meet once more. And all of that, too, is holy. The more I live, the more my life grows to mean, before I die, the more I give to you.
We'll meet again before eternity ends, my brother, my lover, my friend.