And as for the third... well...

It's like that one song from way back when -"If you love someone, set them free." I don't remember whether it was The Police, or Sting on his own, but I used to hate it when they played it because I wanted them to play something else by him - I was always more in the mood for "Invisible Sun," or his earlier stuff with The Police That and, at the time, the song didn't do anything for me.

It's only now that I'm dead that I finally understand what it meant. It's the same thing a parent has to accept when their children move out of the house, or the same thing a teacher has to accept when their favorite pupils graduate. Things change, and states alter, and you can't hold things down and back when they need to go upwards and forwards.

We had a great run, you and me. I wish we could have spent our lives together, the way we'd planned. I wish we could have had those kids, and that house, and those dogs {and, yeah, maybe a cat if my allergies went away}. I wish we could have gotten old together, and had a room full of pictures of our grandkids. The place in the country, trips to Acapulco - I wish we could have had those things.

{And yes, I wish we could have eaten somewhere else that night. I'm sure I'm not alone in that!}

But that didn't happen.

It's not going to happen, either. I'm dead, and as much as I wish I could come back and be your man, again, it's just not going to work. Not with Mr. Bright Side gnawing away at me. Not with me occupying someone else, or using another ghost power to manufacture some sorry joke of a body that I'd have to concentrate on all the time or have it fall apart on me. Not even in dreams.

It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be real. And it wouldn't be fair to you - not one damn bit.

So this is me saying I love you... and setting you free.

After I finish typing this {courtesy of some fellow with a typewriter, and another ghost power} Gladys and I are going to go have some extended "alone time" with one another. Call it an elopement if you like. We're not sure where we'll go - maybe Heaven or Las Vegas, if we can find either one out there. And we're not sure what we'll do when we get there, either.

But in each other's company, away from other concerns and connections, we will warm what we have and make it grow. We will strengthen our new bond as much as is possible. And as she and I come closer together, you and I - my connection to you - will begin to drift apart all the more.

I know this may hurt you, but if has to be this way. I have to set you free, for both our sakes. And I hope you now understand why.

If I have one wish for you, it is that you be happy and fulfilled. {Okay, make that two wishes!} I hope that your life is rich and filled with friends, lovers and everything you want, or need. I hope that you take risks, and not let fear rule you. I hope that you live a life free from regrets and never hesitate to speak your mind, or cut yourself off from unhealthy things or people.

And I hope that you never become so incredibly attached to anything, or anyone, that it keeps you from going on to whatever else is out there. I don't want you to wind up here with me, just like I don't want you to dwell on me, or anything I've said here.

Please forgive me for doing what I did, and know that I did it out of love, just as I'm doing this, now. And please know that I love you, and always will, no matter where I am.

With any luck, I'll hold control over this guy just long enough to have him finish typing this and send it off, courtesy of the mail service. He won't remember any of this, so you don't have to worry about some weirdo knocking on your door asking about "missing time." All you have to do is thank the US Postal Disservice for doing their job, for once, know that... well, I'm repeating myself, here.

And stopping that was the point of all this - isn't it?

Love you forever, and goodbye

Don

P.S. Tim still lives at the same place, is still single, and still thinks very highly of you, in spite of everything I did to scare him off. Don't let me rule your love life, here, but you might want to give him a call.

P.P.S. I mean, hey - what could it hurt?