Dear Universe, Up Yours!

Epilogue

[ "Have a Good Time"  by Sue Thompson Playing]

Dear Gerard,

If you are reading this, I'm most likely dead. It's an overwhelming thought, I know.

I think I understand now. Or at least better than what I have before. There was a sheer, vast chasm between you and the other kids at school. You didn't care enough. That's why I wanted to leave with you. You wouldn't be the type of person to be all panicked if I told you I wanted to run away, you'd encourage it, and you wouldn't have stopped me, or yourself. You hated this place as much as I did. You knew it was corrupting everybody and you didn't ignore it like anyone else. You were interesting.

I knew of you before, though. You were just my lab partner and an awkward comic book nerd. Even though, you differed from the nerds at school too. There's something so unique and beautiful about you. I just couldn't find the exact words to describe it. Before. But now I can, indubitably.

You're the answer.

Not "the answer" where people tell you that and you get pressured by the expectations held against you. Not an answer to some simple, infinite universal, mathematical equation. Not some sort of answer to all the questions to the world.

But some kind of cosmic answer for me. I am a problem and I am responsible for solving it myself, and I now know that you are the answer. You make me feel more alive than how my physical body already is, you made me feel like I'm not alone in this corrupt, lonely world. You're my panacea.

The thing is, we weren't destined to be together. The stars didn't bring us. That's the cheesy shit that people say to their significant other, and it's incredibly bullshit. You and I, we found each other. Extraordinarily, we found each other. You walked up to me, an intense, lonely person, just to give me a science project packet that we probably will never do, and I walked back up to you after pushing you away and I requested a far-fetched idea. And you agreed. And we left. And we murdered someone. And we broke promises. And we got back together, feeling feelings, then writing each other letters, knowing that death creeps onto either one of us or both of us.

I used to be unafraid of death. I simply didn't care about it. But I think it's because I forgot the whole meaning of it. I am afraid of death. I'm afraid of having to unfold the paper and read out your letter, knowing you've died. And I'm afraid of dying, leaving you alone, once more, breaking the promise once more.

I don't know why you began to trust me at the very start. I don't know why I left only to steal someone's car to find you again. But all I know is that no matter what I do or whatever I say, I'm always going to somehow be brought back to you. You're extraordinary.

The worst thing the universe has given to us was time. It keeps going no matter what and never stops, and for people who want their day to end and pass, it goes slow, and... Well, when people experience such a beautiful moment, time goes much faster than it is thought to be. However, Einstein did say time is relative. But I wish that I could just pause time just for a second, anything, just to embrace you as the world freezes; and it's euphoria. And I can just sit there, all day, without passing time, without losing time, just feeling your warmth and your arms holding me tightly, or dancing one last dance. Unfortunately, the universe isn't fair. It's horse shit, and you can't wish for something you want to the sky, because whatever it is, it's always going to be the opposite. No matter what. The universe doesn't do favors, especially to people who have done some fucked-up shit in their lives. And so something I learned from you, from this, is that there's no such thing as a panacea for the entire world.

I would say I love you. But I think I'd need time. I don't want to say it in a crusty old letter.

I'm hoping that I've said it to you, though, Gerard, before you even read this. I hope that you never have to read this. Or at least before I even get to say that I love you in person. Because I do, and I know that I do.

Teenagers say that they love each other a lot. It's mostly used in the wrong way, the wrong sense, the wrong time. Used too early. But I do think that society underestimates teenage feelings, they're overlooked and can only be seen as hormonal attitudes. But I feel confident in what I feel for you. It's definitely not some early misinterpretation of love.

I know that in films, whenever you go on some big road trip, it's a pathway to finding yourself. But maybe that's just for another day. I found you. And every hour, it was just me trying to figure you out, it was like a never-ending jigsaw puzzle, a labyrinthine. But every hour, it would reset when I'd be so close to finishing, like one more piece left. Because I'd keep finding out more and more things about you. And maybe, I don't want to ever solve it fully, because I want to keep learning more about you. You're interesting. You're lovely. But if this is really the end, if you're reading this because I'm somehow gone, then find yourself instead. It'll feel remarkable.

Looking back to moments with you is wonderful. You mean so much to me and it's ridiculous how slow I was to realize. But after all, I'm just another immature, shit seventeen-year-old.

I remember jumping the fence of the school with you, escaping our stupid life.

I remember going back to your house and seeing your parents and immediately going back to the car.

I remember singing along to The Smiths in the car with you.

I remember all the times we've embraced.

I remember dancing with you by the shore.

I remember kissing you by the shore.

And I remember we murdered the man.

Maybe I deserve what's coming for me, though—if you're reading this because I died. There were so many possibilities to escape that man, but I felt so threatened, I felt you were so threatened, so I just took out the pocket knife I bought earlier from the convenience store and stabbed him. And it led us to run away so much and hide, afraid of what will come for us.

But maybe I don't. Maybe I don't deserve to be killed. Sometimes I think I don't deserve you. But other times, I just want us to be together. Ardently, I admire you, and I can't let anything bad happen to you.

I'm actually hoping that it's myself reading this when I'm older and that Gerard and I had escaped somewhere, living at the ends of the earth. Away from everybody else. If it's you, Gerard, who's reading this because I'm gone... I'll miss you. A lot. You've changed my life so much. In all honesty, I don't think I could see myself past high school if I never met you, overwhelmed, but also underwhelmed by the boringness. Thank you so much, Gerard, for everything. Thank you for saving my life. I'll miss you dearly.

Yours eternally,
(Y/n) (Y/l/n)
September 1994