Clark. A few weeks should have passed by the time you read this. If you follow the instructions, you’ll be in Paris on one of those chairs that never sit quite level on a pavement. I hope it’s still sunny. Across the bridge to your right, you’ll see L’artisan Parfumeur. You should try the scent called Papiomextrem. I always did think it would smell great on you. There are few things I wanted to say and couldn’t because you would’ve gotten emotional and you wouldn’t have let me finish. So, here it is. When you get back home, Michael Lawler will give you access to a bank account that contains enough to give you a new beginning. Don’t start panicking. It’s not enough for you to sit around for the rest of your life but it should buy you your freedom, at least from that little town we both call home. Live boldly, Clark. Push yourself. Don’t settle. Wear those stripy legs with pride. Knowing you still have possibilities is a luxury, knowing I might have given them to you. This eased something for me. So, this is it. You are scored on my heart, Clark. You have been the first day you walked in with your sweet smile and your ridiculous clothes and your bad jokes and your complete inability to ever hide a single thing you felt. Don’t think of me too often. I don’t want you getting sad. Just live well. Just live. I’ll be walking beside you every step of the way. Love, Will.
You are pretty much the only thing that makes me wanna get up in the morning.
I just want to be a man who has been to a concert with a girl in a red dress.
Shh. Listen, this, tonight being with you is the most wonderful thing you could have ever done for me. But I need it to end here. No more pain and exhaustion and waking up every morning already wishing it was over. It’s not going to get better than this. The doctors know it and I know it. When we get back, I’m going to Switzerland so I’m asking you if you feel the things you say you feel. Come with me.
If I shut my eyes now, I know exactly how it feels to be in that little square. I remember every sensation. I don’t want those memories erased by the stuggle to fit behind a table, the taxi drivers who refuse to take me, and my wheelchair power pack that won’t charge in a French socket.
