I didn't want to do something as corny and "B-grade romance story" as this, but Annie told me that doing this would help me to let his memory rest peacefully in me, if not, it should at least eradicate the burning edge of the pain. Her original idea was for me to write a letter to him, but that was just too stupid, so I dismissed it, and instead will write as I please, and why shouldn't I? It's my letter, and only I will ever see this so I can write what I damn well want. I wish he was writing this. He was the novelist. He could probably have written a book on my life with one finger and more beautiful language. Most days, I wish fate could have been kinder, God more lenient, and that we could have swapped places. Fine, I will start to write this properly now, and tell the story, the abbreviated version, the compressed and compacted outcome of his many years on this earth. This will be the story of the fallen star.
Hope. The force that shapes our being, what pushes us to yesterday behi