Sliced Trees and Dead Words

Epilogue - That's all, folks.

- DALEN -

Thufferin thuccotash, Luney Tune!

It feels strange writing that and knowing I won't hear or read your, "Eh, what's up, Doc?" reply. How many times do you think we've said those exact words to each other? I could probably pull out my phone and use the calculator to do the math, but let's just ballpark figure it at maybe two thousand, and say it's a-fucking-lot.

Well, a-fucking-lot plus one now. I just needed to throw one more in for old time's sake.

We've known each other a long time, Luna. A long bloody time, and I'd like to think I've come to know you pretty well given all the zillions of messages we've sent to each other, and hours spent FaceTiming and talking on the phone.

If I know you at all after all that time, you've managed to read this all the way through to this final chapter after you finally got your hands on it, that you did it in one sitting as soon as you discovered its existence, and that you're at least a few chapters ahead of Wolfe, who likely would have stopped around the chapter about us having sex, if not sooner. That sensitive, old soul is likely to be jealous as hell right now, even though we both know there is less than no reason for him to be.

Was I right, Luney Tune? Do you like him? Love even? How long did it take you to start trying to sabotage it by making excuses to run away from your feelings? How torn were you trying to place how you felt for him alongside how you had me? How far did you push him away, and how much did he fight you on it before backing down?

It's one of the only good things about being such a nervous, depressed wreck—the acquired skill set you develop in keenly watching and understanding others. You spend long enough arguing your own head back and forth that you're forced to take a break and start applying that same critical thinking and analysis on others. You and Wolfe have been my unknowing test subjects for years, and if I'm wrong in my assessment of the two of you inevitably falling for each other, then you may as well bring me back to life just to kill and dispose of me all over again.

I know. It's technically probably not funny making jokes about the disposal of my body—and if you two decide on anything other than a simple paddle out at Byron, you can bet your ass I'll find a way to come back and haunt you both. But, la bella Luna, it's all I can do now. Joke. Find humour. Make light of this situation. Take a leaf out of your book and try to put a positive spin on an otherwise meaningless existence.

No, I'm not being unnecessarily self-deprecating and grim. My opinion on the lack of purpose in our earthly, human experiences exists entirely separate to everything I'm about to do. We hurt others, willingly and unwillingly, every day. It is inevitable. Everything is born in pain, and it dies just the same. Life exists because of the physical trauma of birth, and death maintains consistency by causing the emotional suffering of everyone left behind when you die, usually painfully.

But the thing is, underlying all that undeniable pain is something else; a few things, even. Attraction, affection, attachment, adoration. I'm not going to say the L-word here because it's cliche as fuck and these four things are basically what that concept means to me in finer detail anyway. You know me, specifics are important.

You deserve these things, Luney. Wolfe, too. Independently and with each other. I've felt them all from the very beginning, and everything else I learned about you both along the way just redefined those four concepts for me all over again.

I was immediately attracted to your shared honesty, openness and understanding; your tenderness, empathy and caring natures; your kindness, generosity and constant support; your witty and dry senses of humour; your intelligence and innate curiosities. You're also both easy of the eyes, which makes everything just that smidge more enticing.

It was easy to feel affection for you both, probably even more so because you're both such affectionate people in general. Heart on your sleeves, (yours a little more obviously than Wolfe's with all those fine, fancy drawings painted into your skin, Luna. Wolfe's are just ripped and beautiful and lovely to stare at.) You feel something, good or bad, and people are going to know it. You, Luney, probably a fraction more noticeably than Wolfe seeing as you are dramatic and have no poker face, and Wolfe shows his feelings more subtly underneath all his broody silence.

Attachment also came so easily with you both. Yes, romantic attachment was a part of it for a while, just as much as sexual attraction was. It would be stupid for me to deny it and I want this last chapter to be as honest as the rest. But the attachment I mean here is actually the bonds we formed in best friendship. The trust and security of knowing someone inside and out, at least as much of you as you feel safe sharing, and in relying on that trust when you start doubting yourself and need a helping hand.

And you always gave it to me—help and encouragement and hope—and I fucking adore you both for it so much. I can't speak more highly of the two of you and am always gushing your praises to anyone who'll listen. I want the world to know how much I adored you both, but seeing as you two were my whole world, this small book has achieved that end, just in a much less grandiose fashion. (How ironic it is that I've finally learned how to tone down the dramatic? Better late than never, I guess.)

I remember laughing so hard internally when you showed me your new wolf tattoo, Luna—that scene on your forearm of a wolf howling his love for the moon by a river lined with trees. I thought, 'yep, this makes perfect sense, and she doesn't even know it yet. Her whole heart, literally on her sleeve, just like I always knew and predicted.' I mean, there was also an element of 'Gee, way to blatantly rub it in my face, Luney', but mostly I was just excited for you both.

Which brings me to my last apology and final request.
I'm sorry I kept him from you, Luney Tune; that I didn't tell you about him, and that I worried you constantly by leaving you thinking I was on my own. I just wasn't ready to share you yet, just like I wasn't sure I wanted to share him. But I am now, so goddamn ready, and I'm a little disappointed I won't get to be there to witness it. To watch my two greatest loves finally love one another.

We both know that you do, Luney. You will try to twist and morph it into something other than it is because you're scared of trusting how messy it is with me being caught in the middle, dividing your confidence in everything you're feeling. But it is what it is, Luna.

Attraction, affection, attachment and adoration, wrapped up in a perfectly timed, beautifully packaged and chiseled masterpiece, with a steamy bow on top.

Leave me out of the equation here. I don't exist anymore, and everything you've felt towards him is true, completely independent of me and my prophetic leanings. The good, the bad, the irritating, the giddy. All of it. You have my full, complete and faithful support and approval to dive, head first, in lusty, lively love with him. Not that you need my permission. Your heart is yours, Luna, and I only want who you want to share it with you.

But, if this isn't attainable just yet (it is) and you don't think you're ready (you are), then my only remaining favour is that you at least look out for him for me. I know this book has been more about you than him, but he has been so great to me, Luna. So fucking great. And I love him like the brother I always wish I had, just as much as I love you like the little sister I never had (no need to be jealous—you know I have a lot of love to give.)

He might be all big and brawny and handsome and seemingly in control, but he's as sensitive a soul as they come, and I worry about how this will affect him. He isolated himself for my sake, and yes, probably a little for his own in the beginning, too. But with me gone, he'll finally have the freedom to decide what comes next for him. He's been jogging along beside me for years, out-running me if anything because he has better healthy-person genes, natural athleticism, and non-junkie tendencies. But he never needed to. He's a homebody, and I need you to help him find wherever that new home is going to be. And I really hope that one day soon it will be you . . .

Eternally thankful and devoted to you, Luna Martone and Wolfe Prescott. Always in life, and especially in death.

All my love,

Dalen Noah Rivers.

P.S. That's all, folks.