Dear Jameson,

Now all I need to is for you to forgive me.  Tonight was the prophesied night.  The one in which I was to die.  The final sign?  Disappointing the one person I truly loved: you.  By the time you read this, you’ll appreciate the irony.  You were furious with me for rejecting one lover, Beth, for another, Angelique.  I don’t think either would be flattered by my elevation of you above them, but you deserved it.  You still do, I’m certain.

My life was saved by Count Petofi, making things, as our favorite bedtime writer said, “curiouser and curiouser.”  Why the vision did not include him is still baffling, but what about a psychic vision does not.  You don’t have them, do you?  If so, tell me what they say the cause is before taking any drastic cures.

Jameson, my boy, you have all of the brains and guts and heart that I once had.  I see that in you, and it makes me proud.  But do you know what else I see?  I see a sense of compassion and heart that I can only hope to match one day… probably when I’m old and gray.

But I doubt that day will ever come after tonight.  So be twice as compassionate, for the both of us.



ps — Never let life change you.  Because it’ll try, my friend.  It’ll try.


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