Gatsby's hopeful goodbye. Please review!

I never intended to lie to you, old sport. I never intended to lie to anybody. The truth of the matter is that, for me, the line between dreams and reality became blurred for me a long time ago. I have told you by now that I was once called James Gatz, and my history before the glittering nights at West Egg. If I can, I now will try to relate to you now as briefly as I can the brilliant hope I have felt in the midst of the wild confusion through these past few months. Though you have embraced so much about me already, I need to make you understand those things within me which you seem to push away, the reason I know I can repeat the past.

I knew from the moment you moved in next door that you're Daisy's cousin, and I saw then that everything I had worked toward was within my grasp. Of course, I waited, which as you can imagine has become common for me, but no easier. I got to know you better in that short time from my tall curtained window facing the lawn we share when I caught you admiring the house from your porch. I decided then that it was time I met you properly, and sent your invitation. You attended the party and I came so much closer to what I had been waiting for. From the moment I met you, I've liked you, old sport, and for the first time in this bizarre history I felt a pang of guilt for using you to get to Daisy. Even as you're nearly as old as I am, something in you reminds me of the way I was when I was young, with a slumbering vision inside my mind waiting to be born.

We went to lunch together, you and I, as I'm sure you remember. That was the day I introduced you to Meyer Wolfsheim. Terribly sorry he mistook you for someone else, old sport. You're too clever and I can tell you know what he was thinking. I could tell then that you were beginning to see the face behind the pink suit and the lavish parties. True, all true, that beyond my blue gardens is something less spectacular, something humble. I love my family but again and again I find myself saying that sadly, they're all dead now, or I have made myself dead to them by laying down the distance between us and erecting an iron gate. I am not an honest man, old sport.

Now you know why, you see, and I've shown you the light at the end of her dock across the bay, the emerald color of daydreams. Now you understand why I've pushed myself this far, why I strive to push myself further. Not forward, old sport, but backwards, away from here, back to that night in Louisville when life made sense, but this time I'm the man I claimed to be. This time I'm no longer away from her, I'm here now. She can't leave me again. Now I can control it…

I'd like to thank you for having Daisy over for tea so I could happen by. I nearly expected that you wouldn't say yes, though I don't know why. So much since then I would have missed, but nothing is lost forever, not even time. More gratitude I extend to you for speaking to me earnestly when I was acting childish, for encouraging me when I panicked. I didn't take you for the kind of man who would let a stranger into his life, much less encourage—what Daisy and I have is no sin, you see, because when I kissed her that night it was as if I had married her. In the eyes of the world, she may wear his last name for now, but that will change. It still can change, old sport, you understand, because in spite of all she's said she never loved Tom.

The night Daisy attended the party, I said she didn't like it. You told me she did. You're a good friend to me, old sport. Then you listened as I told you how my love for her came to be, of that night when I kissed her and she became the foundation of all I've ever wanted. Why, why—that is, what I don't understand—is why you said what you said. Old sport, you said, "you can't repeat the past." But I said of course you can, of course you can, when you set your mind to it and the wind blows in your favor. There's still time for me yet. The memory of those words on your lips rang in my mind for some time, and I can't decipher for what reason they ring even now, a steady echo. Can't repeat the past, old sport? Every man has the desire inside him, each man with his own singular word to find the strength within him to achieve it. It's a wonder no man tries to repeat the past, but no other man can speak the name of his secret love as I say 'Daisy!'

Something about me in that moment distanced you, standing there in the garden, and still you supported Daisy and I yesterday afternoon. Baffled as I am, I can never repay all I owe to you, and I'll never stop trying. You gave me hope again; another reason to believe that I am one step closer, always one step closer, though at times it seems the dock is far away.

And now we reach the crux of our conflict: yesterday afternoon. When Daisy looked at me, Tom must have seen. He must have seen the way that she loves me, the way she had always been married to me and not to him, her husband by law and nothing else, only for now. To confront him in town seemed the right proposal, I thought then, because what occurs within those invisible walls can remain trapped there forever.

That's when you said something strange. You said her voice was full of—something, and suddenly I knew. You were right. Money, I said, and it's always been true. Her voice is full of money, that deep and soft voice like a silver bell. I felt strange then, but loved her all the more for reasons I cannot explain to you, and we drove off.

My letter darkens here, I warn you. It would be so natural a lie to defend myself against Tom Buchanan's verbal attack, but I respect you more than that, old sport. Every word was true. Alcohol is fast money, and I was good at it. I've climbed up so far now that it hardly seems a part of my life anymore. I looked at him, and for an instant, in the corner of my eye, I saw you. In my anger, I frightened you, and for that I owe you even more. Your friendship has been a constant comfort to me. You're a real person I can tell my hidden truths to, one of the very few real people I have met in my time here. I admit I could only think of you for a fleeting moment before I left with Daisy, and upon my return home I could not reflect on anything but my slipping dream and Daisy— but the dream still lives, old sport. There is time for me yet.

There are things I have seen and done in my life which cause me great pain, but little has torn my heart in two the way Daisy's face looked behind the wheel of that car when she hit that woman. I wanted to stop, but there was no time to think and nothing I could do but let Daisy carry us away all the faster. I wondered why she didn't stop. She must have been in shock. Yes, old sport, and when she was home again there seemed a new lair to her. She seemed composed, almost content, there on those opulent steps under lamplight which bathed her in gold. You confronted me and learned the truth. I could not lie to you again, and I hope I never will.

Surely you remember this morning, when I said Daisy will call and you said you supposed she would. You were good to stand by me then, because I didn't want to be alone. This brings us to the last words you spoke to me before you left for your train, another thing that's happened that I wish to address. You told me that they're a rotten bunch, and that I'm worth the whole damn bunch put together. I don't know why you said that. I'll never forget it as long as I live.

I don't know why I wrote this to you now when I can tell you later. I may decide never to give you this at all. You see, I'm inclined to being reserved in my emotions, though you've earned all the truth I can give you, which is a fine gift for an honest man. I may keep this to give to you later. I'm not sure now what will become of later, but I'll know when Daisy calls. I'll know then whether I read this aloud to you later today or whether you'll find it sitting on your doormat. This note is a sentiment I felt that you deserve. You will see, whatever happens to me, that my dream is incorruptible, because love, old sport, is an eternal thing. I'm going for a swim now, first time all summer. It's a shame you couldn't join me, but perhaps there'll be another chance. If I don't come to see you tonight I have gone.

With all my friendship—

Your Neighbor,
Jay Gatsby