Author's Note: Jess never came back in the episode "Nag Hammadi." Actually, I'm not sure where any of this came from. I just opened up Word, and started to type. So, if you don't like it, okay. I'm not sure if I do, either. Anyhow, it's here for you to read.
Sometimes I dream. I dream of your smile. I dream of your voice. But lately, it seems like nothing at all.
I see your brown eyes reflecting in the sunlight, by the bridge. I see the glimmer of happiness crack through the tough guy façade.
I dream about your face, most of all. It's burned into my memory. How it looked when you were mad at Luke. How it looked when you were mad at Taylor. Even how it looked when you were mad at my mom, but didn't want to say it. But most of all, I remember how it looked when you looked at me. I can't quite describe it, but it was a look you only gave me.
I wouldn't call the look love, but it was surely more than like. I'm not quite sure if I loved you, but I surely liked you more than just "like." I never got a chance to explore the option of love; you left that day.
I got on the bus, not expecting to see you. I was on my way to the place that separated us. Chilton. I was to go to college, and you weren't. I didn't know it at the time, but you were already starting to leave me, and in all honestly, I was starting to leave you. I'll never forget what you were doing when I got off the bus. You had a book in your hand and you were looking at me, with that look. The one you only looked at me with. And I'm sure that when my foot left the bottom step, you were right back to reading.
Reading. You always did that. Everyone thought you were some type of James Dean wannabe, but you weren't. At least, not in my opinion. You read. A lot. I dream about that, too. Your voice, I mean. Your voice when you were reading out loud. On the bridge, especially. Your voice was average, not too deep, but not too high pitched. You had a soothing sense about you when you read out loud. It was as if you were trying to relax yourself, more than me.
But those memories are starting to fade, like summer fading to fall. Slowly but surely, you are starting to fade from my memory. Like the one time we had lunch at the bridge. I remember you were trying to piss Dean off, and succeeded. I remember your smile, and I remember your voice. But I don't remember what we ate, or what we were wearing, or how much exactly you paid for that basket.
It's memories like those that are starting to fade, and honestly it's starting to freak me out. I'm not even sure why, because I'm supposed to be head over heels in love with another man, and I'm starting to drown in fading memories of you at night, when I'm sleeping next to him.
Him. You never got the chance to meet him. He was sent off to Military School before you got there. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty sure that you would've gotten along great. He was always trying to be all big and bad, but never really succeeded. He also hated Dean, too. That's why you probably would've gotten along. His name is Tristan, by the way.
And we're getting married soon. Don't get me wrong, I love him, but I'm always going to wonder about you, Jess. The kid from New York who wreaked havoc on Stars Hollow. The guy who loved to read, sometimes out loud when I asked on the bridge. The guy whom I think I may have loved.
When you called that day, the day of my graduation, I was fully prepared to tell you off, saying that I hated you, and didn't like you ever. But then I heard you softly breathing into the receiver, and suddenly everything changed. My main focus wasn't trying to get back at you; it was trying to understand why you had left.
In all honestly, I still don't know why you left. I still haven't figured it out. Really, I've given up, but I still would like to know why. I think that's why I sometimes dream of you. Your voice, your smile.
You know, I'm half expecting to see your smile on the day of my wedding. It's three weeks away, by the way. I see you sauntering down the aisle way sitting next to Luke. You're wearing that black leather coat of yours, and carrying a copy of Oliver Twist with you. I really wouldn't know what to do then.
Actually, that was a lie. I would know. And that's why I'm writing this, right now. I would look at you, wonder why you were there, and smile, knowing that I've got my closure. I would turn back to Tristan, my fiancé. He would stare at me for a moment, trying to read my eyes and silently ask if I was okay with his eyes. I would smile and nod.
I would smile and nod because I've let you go. You walked out of my life when I was eighteen, and might walk back in, during my wedding, when I am twenty-four. Six years. I've spent six years trying to let you go. And, I don't deserve this, you don't deserve this, and most of all, my future husband doesn't deserve this. So, I'm writing this because I'm letting you go. So, goodbye, Jess. Goodbye Dodger. Goodbye to the boy who broke my heart. Goodbye to you.