I came back because I refuse to let my last words be those of a victim. I came back because this story deserves a better ending, it deserves more time to unfold, to write its chapters and to tell its tale. I came back because I've missed you. I've missed having someone listen to my every silly thought, and I've missed how each and every time I felt connected, like I have brothers and sisters all around the world, who for some strange reason understand exactly how I'm feeling. I'm back, if you'll have me of course, and I need you to know that I'm far from the person I want to be, yet strangely I've never felt lighter - as if I could jump and float beneath the clouds. I've accepted that I've never been truly loved, and that I failed at my first real try, and then I failed even more profoundly at my second go. But most importantly, I've forgiven myself for not being perfect, and I'm cheering myself on for even trying in the first place. In truth, I've got all kinds of time, and I can't wait to see what happens next. Can you?
She takes his hand, caresses his wavy brown hair and holds him as tight as she did the day before she died. She does not feel sorry for him, because she can see things he cannot, she can phantom the objective circumstances - the raw truth. Yet for some strange reason she does not enlighten him, she does not reveal what she knows, and simply lets the sound of his tears fill the room. She realises that this is something he must overcome, something he must survive without understanding how or why, something he has to endure to become the person she is certain he'll one day be. There is so much more behind the curtain, behind the graspable and tangible - so much more he has to see, has to learn, has to experience. For true serenity is not in the answers themselves, but in the journey to answer them.
