Lately I've been feeling that I deserve what happened. More than that - that we all deserve what we get. And so I deserve this barren life, bereft of its only meaning - love. Why? Because of cowardice.
You told me I lived in denial. Not exactly. It's not that I couldn't see. It's that I couldn't act. My sins are all ones of omission. I never did the wrong thing. I just didn't do the right thing. Because of fear. There are instances that come clearly to mind. But this is not the place.
I said in the beginning that I knew I was always meant to write. The reason I haven't is not because I think my writing is not good enough. It's because I have no imagination. I'm always amazed at how wildly imaginative my dreams are. But in real life I have no access to that power. But there's one thing I can do. I can write what I know. I was kind of a journalist after all. I can take what I know and make people understand it. Maybe even feel it. That's all I need to do now. I need to write about you. Because you were amazing. Because you had no fear.
Another reason I gave myself a pass on becoming a writer is because I thought you could do it better. You were as good a writer as me, but you also had a life. But although you wrote, you didn't leave behind much. You were too busy living. Well, I have no life now, so I have all the time in the world. I will write about your life. I don't pretend to know all of it. I was in denial, remember? But there are people out there who know about it. They can help me fill in the gaps.