Even with the death of one dream, another has been realized.

I have not, and will never now, see the world’s beginning. But beginnings are strange, ambiguous things anyway—an end is more solid, less abstract. And you do know how I hate dealing with vague, intangible things…

You, however, are privileged. No, not privileged—wise? That doesn’t seem right, either. Back to the Fate vs. free will conundrum made popular—and horribly, sickeningly, trite—by the last age of popular culture. At any rate, you will see both—the end…and the beginning (I wonder if it is only for the first time…).

I envy you now. Not that it matters; not that you know. Or maybe you do. I don’t know where you are, or whether you have any connection left to this place. I know…that most people think of their beloved dead as having gone up to some cloud…and that there, somehow managing to stay undistracted by all the surrounding bliss, these newly-minted angels take an uncommon interest in the mundane affairs of the still-living.

I know you are not dead. I know you have not died. And now, you never will.

But the angel part troubles me. Not some innocent cherub, not a fallen demon—and not human. What were you, that you had the power to…

No matter; it’s too late now. I withdraw a cigarette from my dried, colorless lips; exhaling the smoke that now has no chance of ever killing me. It doesn’t calm my nerves either, but I am beyond nervousness, doubt, or dread. Just regret fills me now, permeating every cell with a terrible, unfathomable cold.

I am sitting where I last saw you. That was two years ago.

They tell me it’s not too late. That there’s still hope. But you have no idea how hard it is, now.

My skin remains unmarked, but my soul is oddly empty. It is not a problem of unbelief—I cannot explain it. An inescapable feeling of unworthiness…you know that everything that could make me become unreasonably attached to this life left this earth with you. Nothing else binds me to this earth…other than this horrible doubt, my lack of faith.

The sacrifice was perfect and complete…everything I am not. But like everything else, does it really apply to me? I’m sure, somehow, I’m exempt…I cannot believe my sins will be forgiven without some sort of painful penance I must pay.

And so, still damned, I languish, I doubt, I suffer and I think I may never see you again.

Of course, doing this all with that sole goal in mind would not save me either. Even now—my love for you only serves to make everything all the more hopeless.

How did you ever manage to love me—without falling? Unequally yoked hearts—I’m sorry if I ever caused you pain, but you knew I was a believer. But unsaved….that simply wasn’t enough.

I still remember the day you were taken—along with nearly everyone else I’ve loved. Those left behind—with me—are all gone now. Either taken by Death (and who I am to say where they went after?) or by the Mark.

We were here by the ocean—for no apparent purpose, as I recall. It’s a fairly inhospitable stretch of coast—cold, forbidding, but indescribably beautiful. Something like you…evoking the same inexpressible emotions…

Yes, the memory remains so clear, even now…this cliff was our favorite vantage point, over the Bay—always something to see, whether flocks of seabirds, raucous sea lions, or maybe just a group of kayakers in colorful wetsuits. There were whales that day—a rare treat, a blessing. I remember running to the edge, careful not to slip—you knew I wouldn’t, but you caught me anyway…like every other time I’ve casually skirted the edge of death and destruction. Did you marry me only to make your duties as guardian angel easier? I wish—more than anything else—I wish I would have said something then, but I thought words would ruin everything. They probably would have.

One moment there, one later, gone, and I fell forward but even then, you must have returned—if only for a half-second—to make sure I did not touch the ground.

Comforting, yet haunting—no, I know you’re still here. Your hand stops the knife, hides the poison, loosens the noose…but even now, beyond life, death and sin, you cannot save my soul.

I have not the power for that either—but I have the choice. Seek and ye shall find…but will I? Is my lost faith as easily found as a set of misplaced keys, or is it—like you—lost to eternity?

Eternity. I never understood what that meant before, when you were here to dull the pain of my existence. Now I comprehend all…too well.

Though my soul may remain unsaved, I know I will not die until the end. You have made sure of this and I have half a decade to decide whether or not I’ll accept that yes—despite my utter unworthiness, I may take part in a new beginning—

With you. That alone…but no. I am no angel, like you. Fallen, flawed though you were, your new home in Heaven suits you…but I…I am still a creature of this world…of death…

Help me.