Darling,

I think the only way I could've saved you would be turn everything upside down and backwards. Or maybe right side up and forwards, since we were never normal anyway? Or, perhaps, not change anything at all except for those last few moments that we had together. I should've told you to stop; I should've saved you from your sinking depression. Maybe the only thing I could do would be to go back to when your parents were murdered and stop it- thus allowing you to keep your happy home and live a normal life, away from the pressure, the pain, and me.

But I know that everything in life is written out on a paper, or a stone, or maybe in the god's mind, and it cannot be changed, no matter what we do. Maybe, perhaps, that is why we never know what's going to happen in the future until it's right there. The thought makes me terribly pleased and awfully sad and depressed all at once. To know, or think, anyway, that your choices have already been made and documented, sealed over with a scarlet letter in your own blood. Maybe that is how it is, and maybe not. I don't know. I never will, most likely, not that I care anyway.

I know why, so it's completely pointless to ask you that. I know how much you suffered, and the only thing I don't know is why the hell you didn't tell me. You know I could've and would have been there for you, I wouldn't have shoved you away- I could have helped. We all could've, but you didn't let us. I wonder if that is because you didn't want to be seen as weak, or because you didn't trust us? I hope it was the former, because I would hate to think that we are not trustworthy. That thought saddens me beyond anything aside from your death. That hit the worst, even though I saw it coming.

If it was the former, let me tell you now that it would not have been the case. If you're hurting, you're not weak, it makes you stronger to tell someone and get help. If you didn't want the adults to find out, you could've just asked me not to tell, you know I would do anything for you, my dear. Anything. I would die for you, kill for you, and give up everything I am, if it would make you happy again. Screw my morals- they can go to hell. You were all that mattered.

Now, though, it is something unreachable. It is what you strived for, and dedicated your life to achieving. But you had me, though I suppose it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough to keep you going, and for that I am so, so sorry. I wish I had been.

For you, my dear, my love, my life, I will be what you wanted so desperately. I will be the man you idolized, but who never had enough time to come and see us- the children who gave their lives to make sure that he would live on, forever. To make sure that everything went smoothly with the world, but, I'm sorry, who gives a rat's ass about the world? I sure as hell don't. But you did, and he does. But I have no chance of taking his spot, and I'm sorry for that, love. Then again, you always knew that, you were smarter than me, just a bit, that unreachable amount that I can never live up to, to become what is required. And that's just it, isn't it? Requirements.

Never mind requirements, anyway, they are not worth my attention, and I think you know just what they are and how to get them and how often they change, shift, spin, flip and turn around all too well. I doubt you want the reminder. They are, after all, what pushed you over the edge, the thin, fragile line that was a balance beam between sane and insane, and you crossed it, because of the stupid, fucking requirements.

Not that it matters. None of it matters, except that small amount of intelligence, brilliance, pain, care, and boredom, that I just don't have. You know me better than anyone in the world, you should know that I am insanely smart, but the bar between sane and insane is one I crossed long ago, forever haunted by the consistent reminder that humans are painfully mortal, fragile, and will eventually die. To be honest, I'm surprised I have lasted as long as I have. I wish you lasted longer than I, so I wouldn't have to live with this pain. Pain you wouldn't have, because, in the long run, I do not matter. I am merely a tool, an experiment created by both the gods above, and the mortals below. This does not make me as sad as you would think.

But I have gone off track. What you wanted in life, the thing you always strived for, is something I cannot ever hope to attain. But, I am not stupid. If I cannot be the World's Greatest Detective, then I will become the opposite. I will become the World's Greatest Criminal. There is nothing else I can do. But, even now, I am thinking up the murders- oh, yes, my dear, they will be brilliant. I know this is not what you want from me, not what you wanted at all, but it is the best I can do. I know you wanted recognition, but if I cannot gain it through being good, than being bad is the only other option, yes?

That sounds horribly cliché, but what can I do? There is not another way I can put it, though I am certain you could have come up with something so much better. …I miss you, you know. You were everything I had. My best friend, my lover. But I guess those days are gone, passed, memories that will eventually be forgotten by the world, like a harmless leaf on the wind. I don't particularly mind being forgotten, but you did, you always did- it was your greatest fear. But I do not care that I will someday die and no one will spare it a thought. I care even less now that you are gone, for dying, now, means going back to you.

I will take some of you, with me. I remember everything, every tiny detail about you, and I will use it. I dearly hope that you don't mind. They will be small things, for instance, your fondness for the Japanese manga that I will never understand. Crossword puzzles, the ones that took you hours, that would allow you to have a real challenge. You always loved Rome, too, so I will use something from that, as well, I think. I will also be your idol. Sugar, the way he sits, his appearance. I will take it, and I will use it for my own. Nobody will be able to look at him again without envisioning a murderer. Don't worry, though, I will use my own gift, to choose my victims. Nobody will die before his or her time, I promise.

I must, once again, apologize. For not being enough, and for not helping you.

Beyond Birthday

Review, please?