Disclaimer: I make no money off this, so please don't sue. They're not mine.

Promises

Dear Mark,

God, dying sucks. But then, it's worse for the people who aren't dying, right? We both know that by now.

I'm sorry I couldn't hold on longer. I've been trying, but…well, I know I'm losing my grip, and I figured I'd better write this before I get too weak. I remember how weak they all were…

I know you're going to have a tough time of it, and I don't blame you. I mean…well…SHIT. You're going to be alone. I promised myself I'd never let you end up alone, but it looks like I'm pretty shitty at keeping promises.

I know I promised we'd always have each other, and I feel like the lowest of the low for breaking that. But Mark, you're a great guy, you shouldn't always be alone. I know it hurts. I know losing Maureen hurts, even though she was a bitch and didn't deserve you anyway. But you've gotta suck it up, man!

I guess I mean you shouldn't be like me. Don't be a hermit. Go out, make new friends, be a famous filmmaker and dedicate your crappiest film to me, okay? Because your crappiest film would be good enough that I'd be proud to have it dedicated to me. I know you don't believe me, but you're that good.

I'd ask you to promise me you'd keep going once I'm gone, but our promises don't seem to last lately (fucking death, I hate it) and plus, if you've got this it means I'm gone anyway so it doesn't really make sense to promise me, does it?

This letter seemed like a good idea when I started it, damn it. Now it just seems pointless.

Whatever happens, just remember this: You're my best friend. Ever since that day you helped me out in voice class at the Y, you've been my best friend. I love you, Mark. God, that sounds so mushy. But it's true. You're a sweet, sensitive, amazingly naïve guy, and I love you for it. Don't change too much without me, Baby Boy, because you're great just the way you are.

When you really miss me, just sing That Song that you're so obsessed with. "Lullaby of Broadway", right? Sing that, think of me, and then imagine me smacking you with a magazine and telling you to get on with your life.

Hey, I'm gonna tell everyone "Hi" for you, okay?

I love you, Mark. In a non-Collins sort of way, you get me?

-Roger

P.S. I know you're not musically inclined, but…maybe try to learn to play the guitar? It's such a sweet guitar, I'd hate to think you'd sold it…