To my best and oldest Friend,

I'm afraid this letter is long overdue. I must confess I've been putting off writing you this for some time. I'm not man enough to tell you to your face, I know how you get about feelings and stuff. But I figure its been time you know what I feel and I don't know no other way to explain myself but through this letter. I think, and you can't deny I'd be right, that if I told you this to your face you'd smack me back to Lightning Flat. So I've decided to write this to you. Now, I ain't no William Shakespeare when it comes to words but I will try my hardest to just tell it like it is, plain and simple.

The people round town, they been giving me weird looks lately. Something just tells me, Friend, that my time on this here Earth is drawing to a close. I can't rightly explain why I feel so, I just do. Maybe it's because the people have been looking at me all funny and shit. I get that feeling you used to, that somebody knows and it's just a matter of time before I'm part of the dirt. Don't feel sorry for me. I could be completely off my rocker, which is more than likely, but if God feels it's necessary for me to go, then I've accepted that. But I don't want to just off and die before I get to tell you everything I've been meaning to for all these years. So, Friend, here I go.

I told you, a long time ago, that old Brokeback got us good. That night in the hotel, you remember? And now, I can't speak for you, but I go to sleep each night thinking of clear blue skies and how warm and right it felt just to sit there next to you. If I could go back to any place, any time, it would be those nights on Brokeback when it was just cold enough to be comfortable with the heat of the fire touching our toes. Sometimes, I still think I hear those damn sheep bleating and then I wake up with a powerful kind of hurt, the bed cold next to me where I wish you would be. Don't put this letter down, Friend. If I never get the opportunity to see you again I want you to know all this, I want you to know that it was more to me. If you don't feel the same, and by some chance I don't die, then I'll leave you in peace and you won't never have to bother with me again. I just want you to know.

Down here in Texas, it can get mighty hot but the nights always feel cold and lonely because I'm waiting for your arms. Those times we were together, I think they were the best of my life. You know, when we'd just relax, enjoying each other's company. I miss those days, Friend. It was never about the sex, though God knows that was damn good too. You were better than anyone else I ever been with. But more than that, for me, being with you was about how I felt, how you made me feel, Friend. I think when I was with you I was more like the person God intended me to be. I'm not a different person with you, like people say you are with the one you are destined to be with. I'm just a better me. I'm complete. I know this sounds mighty soft, Friend, but maybe that's because it is. You complete me, Friend.

Those first days after we came down off Brokeback, I fooled around with rodeo and a long line of good-looking young gals, Lureen being the last of them. Sometimes, drinking at the bars at night, I'd see a fella who reminded me of you and I'd be drawn towards him like one of those magnets. He would always walk away just as I got there and then I would realize that I wasn't going to find you no matter how hard I looked down there. Rodeo wasn't for you. And each time I realized that that man wasn't you, a huge hole ripped open my heart and I would have to lose myself deep in the bottle or risk dying of grief.

I have been to Mexico, Friend, and I've been with a rancher buddy of mine down here but just in the recent days. I know this angers you and I'm so sorry, sorrier than you could ever know, but I can't help myself. I ain't perfect, Friend, except when I'm with you. But my rancher buddy, old Malone, he's a good guy. You'd like him; he's honest and decent. We get along well enough but he ain't you and so to me its about nothing but satisfying my weak body's needs. I pretend that you're with me when the lights go off, and old Malone, he knows this. He's missing someone too. We're just together when the pain of loneliness gets too bad to face by ourselves. The pain of missing you, Friend.

Once I said that Brokeback got me good, but now, later in this letter, I realized that I lied to you, and I'm sorry for that. But that ain't the point of this. It wasn't Brokeback that got me good, I now know. It was you. Your smile and your ideas and your loyalty and the way you tuck that big chin of yours into your chest when you feel uncomfortable. Which, I reckon, is what you're doing this very moment. Your quick temper and your soft singing, it all makes me crazy. I damn near lose my mind when I'm with you. It wasn't Brokeback, it was all you, you damn son of a bitch.

I know we ain't ever put a name to this powerful thing that draws us together but I know we both know what it is. I won't put it down here because we don't need no fancy words to express what we feel. It's in our hearts, our minds, our bodies, and our souls. No ink can capture it. Something about the way we are together is perfect, more perfect than anything else in this world, I reckon.

We ain't ever got the chance to be together in this life and that ain't your fault. Life is a damn bitch sometimes but I think I owe it something because it brought me to you. And even if I never see you again on this here Earth I am so thankful for those small stolen moments when we were happy together. Friend, that's what kept me going this long. If now my time is gone then I'll be happy knowing I'm going back to Brokeback, back to my Garden of Eden. I'll save a horse for you. If I know anything, I know that I'll see you again someday. We might have had to be separated in this life, but we've got an eternity together to look forward to.

I suppose I sound like a damn pansy after this letter. I guess I just wanted you to know that you got me good, Ennis del Mar, and I don't think I ever want you to let go.

Jack

The phone rang shrilly, a new addition to Ennis' home. He quietly placed the letter in his closet, above where the shirts he and Jack once wore, in days long past, hung. Choking back a few tears that threatened to fall and ruin his good shirt, he answered the phone solemnly.

"Hello? Oh hi, little darlin'. Yeah, I'm coming. I wouldn't miss my own daughter's wedding. Yeah. I'm leaving now. I'll see you soon. I… I… I love you too. Bye."

Ennis picked up his jacket off his lone chair, and shrugged into it. He placed a soft kiss on the picture of Brokeback Mountain, and then closed the closet door for one final time.

"I'll see you sometime soon, Jack," he said, and then walked out the door.