✖ [ hi! :3 ]
My muse is dead, but they left yours a letter! Send ✖ to see what it says.
Spock,
I don’t know why I’m writing this. The ‘amateur psychologist’ in me says it’s to give myself some peace of mind, but lately that gentleman’s been reading a lot of crackpot new-age articles ‘just for laughs.’ That may be, but you can’t completely deny the idea that inevitably, there might be some contamination of thought.
That’s a joke, in case that didn’t come across. I haven’t actually lost my mind yet. But wait, what’s that I hear? ”Doctor, I am not entirely convinced you ever possessed one to lose.”
Who knows, you might be right. Hell, maybe it’s a good thing you’re probably questioning my sanity. Might make it easier to tell you some things if you think I’m delusional. I know you’re not there yet, Spock, but when you get to be the Vulcan equivalent of my age, you’ll find a strange kind of freedom in the idea that people don’t quite take you seriously anymore. It’s damned frustrating, too, at times, but it is what it is. You take the good with the bad.
Anyhow.
First of all, I’m sorry for ribbing on your pointed ears all this time. I couldn’t exactly fault you on that brain of yours, so back then I suppose I felt the need to pick on something a bit more corporeal. They actually suit you fine. And all those jokes I made comparing you to Lucifer, king of the damned, that was just me being a jackass. You’re actually the opposite of devilish, Spock. You’ve done a lot of good with your life.
You know, when we were much younger men, I never would have pinned you for being the diplomatic type, but now, seeing you like this, reading about you, listening to the stories people tell me… I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, Spock, I don’t mean to patronize you, but… I am so damned proud of you. And I want you to know that Jim would have said the same thing. In different words, probably; out of the two of us, he was always the more eloquent.
I’ve been thinking about Jim more and more, lately.
I won’t bore you with my thoughts about what I expect the afterlife must be like, or if there even is such a thing, but I will skip to the part where I remember that you never did give me your insights on death, all those years ago. You said then it was because I wouldn’t have any way to understand it, I wouldn’t have a frame of reference. Well, you were right, I won’t argue that.
That’s the whole point of dying, right? That you don’t know what happens, so you’d better make sure to do everything you need to before you go, just in case it’s the last chance you have?
That being said, I suppose I’d better get on with this letter. Tell you the things I wanted to tell you.
You’d think it wouldn’t be so hard, writing it down like this. Hell, I haven’t seen you for twelve years – you’d think the time between us would give me some sort of, I don’t know, sense of detachment that’d make this easier. But that’s never been the case with you. I suppose that’s something I wanted to say – no matter where you ran off to, and for no matter how long, I always felt the connection we’d made. Maybe it’s because you once gave me your immortal soul to carry in my mind.
Why is it that your mother tongue undoubtedly has some neat little word that perfectly describes what our relationship is and was, while I have to sound like a fool trying to piece together something in Standard that isn’t too much or too little? You are my friend, Spock, you’ve been my friend for years. I’m also a friend to many others, and that’s the thing of it. You were never just like all the rest. You are more than that, to me. Always have been. I hope you know this, Spock. I hope with all the time I’ve had with you over the years, you know that behind all the bickering is someone who cares for you. Is glad to have known you. Wants to see you again.
Well. This letter’s gotten long enough, hasn’t it? ‘Brevity is the soul of wit,’ as it were?
Take care of yourself, Spock. If you can find the time, I’d love to have a chat with you, hear about what you’re doing these days. You know where to reach me.
Yours, Leonard.
