Body Joss Whedon and a whole lot of other folks own A:TS stuff, I'm just a lowly po' college student.

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Dearest,

They tell me you've changed. I believe it. No one knew you like I did. No one saw what I saw in you.

But that's an awful way to start a letter. Then again lots of awful things have happened . . . trivial things. Stuff that you don't want to know. But you know me, can't let a thought go once it's in my head even if it's . . . I still can't believe you let me do that. It makes me smile even now thinking about it.

You were the sweetest thing.

So I'm somewhere, you know, out there where no one can find me. 'Course that could be because I haven't left them a forwarding address. (Insert dry self-deprecating laughter here, Dearest.) I guess, really, I'm somewhere between living and death. If I remember right, it's a place you know fairly well. Guess that means you're the only one who understands. You're the only one.

I wonder how your face looks holding this scrap of paper in your hand, looking at a handwriting you've probably forgotten. I never could fool you into thinking someone else had written something could I? You could spot my forgeries better than any forensics officer. You should have gone into forensics. You never will, will you? I feel like it's my fault.

"But it's not!" you're saying to yourself. We know each other far too well.

So, here I am, sitting in the dark writing by candlelight for the ambiance. Yes, you may laugh at me freely. It may be hard to believe but I'm smiling myself. See what you've done, once again, Dearest, you've made me smile in two short moments.

I miss you so much. I want to know what sort of person you've grown into. You were always so much better than I was. Just writing this letter to you improves me: my thoughts, my words, my very soul. (My friends will be quite proud.) Ah, didn't know I was poet did you?

I'm not. Just stalling I suppose. (Insert self-deprecating smile here, please.)

I'm lonely. I'm hurt. I'm living and I'm dead. I feel purposeless but . . .but . . . The words fail me. I don't know what to say. No. I don't know how to say it. You always said exactly what was on your mind. You got into so much trouble. I thought I was the bad one. It made me shake my head. Then I turned around and hid my laughter behind my hand.

I love you so. I never stopped loving you. It haunts me to this day.

Tell me what living in limbo's like. I'll tell you what dying in it's like. We'll compare and contrast.

So, tell me, how have you changed. They say you've dyed your hair and have 3 kids out of wedlock. I know, it made me laugh too. We both know it isn't possible. They must have mistaken another for you or me for another. Something like that. I feel sorry for her, whoever she is. I never felt sorry for anyone before. Do you miss it, sometimes, when I didn't used to feel. Probably not. I wouldn't if I were you. Tell the truth, I don't miss it now either. You know what they say: Ashes to ashes, dust to rust.

I never understood why I was your favorite. I hurt you as often as I did nice things for you but you loved me anyhow. I'll remember it forever. I suppose that's what haunts me. And my betrayal.

But I'm breaking the rules. "No bad memories, brother, next you write."

I still don't know why Heaven would respond to send an earthbound demon who sent out a letter for his own conscience's redemption but I won't question.

Not until next time, Kathy.

Your Angel,

Liam