Chapter Text
Dear Dess,
Dearest December,
Regarding us,
For Miss Holiday,
To whom it may concern,
FUCKING
Hey, Dess.
So, firstly, there's something really important for you to know about this letter: you shouldn't read it.
Azzy bugged me for years to journal, to write stuff down, right? Just so I could get it all out and get it out of my head, so all my thoughts had somewhere to be that wasn't just inside of me. That was always his thing, though. Lots of things were, honestly, but that was fine. I didn't need it, and I didn't want it, and it didn't even help, anyway, since everything I wrote was still bouncing around in my head, and all writing did was make sure all my thoughts were spread out between two places instead of being quarantined in just one.
I don't know what's so different about this, though. You won't ever read this. I hope you never find this. But this is about you, and I wish it wasn't, because it's not fair, and this isn't something you should know.
It's about you, and it's for you, and the best thing I can do with it is keep it to myself.
So, if you're reading this- if you found it, or Azzy found it, or if for some Angel forsaken reason I gave this to you personally, please, for the love of everything: burn it and scatter the ashes. Stop here and get rid of it and forget it ever existed, because you don't deserve
You shouldn't
I don't
It's not fair. That's all. It's not fair for me to put this on you like it's your responsibility to manage the way people think of you. It's not your fault. It's not. It's me. It's a 'me' problem, not a 'you' problem, but for some fucking reason I don't think I could stop writing even if I wanted to. I can't say anything to you now, and I still have no idea if that's because of you or because of me or because of something that's already between us that neither of us want to actually talk about.
I mourned you. I missed you. I missed you so much. Everybody did, and your mom told you so, but even if you didn't believe her, they did. We were weird kids, but we were The weird kids, the Holiday-Dreemurr kids that everyone in Hometown knew about, because of who our parents were, and how we just got around everywhere. Small town, big fish, I guess. And it took so fucking long before I ever saw you again, and I still never got over it. Every day lasted years, and each year that went by felt like a blink. Oh, it's my 13th birthday. Oh, it's my 14th birthday. Oh, Asriel is going to college. Oh, Dess would have been 19 this year. That kind of thing. Milestones that just mark how much time was passing because I gave up keeping track of it after you were gone.
I'm sorry about Noelle, by the way. I'm glad she has you again. I'm sorry I couldn't be you for her. I'm sorry I couldn't be me.
Carol Mrs. Holiday Your mom's plan was batshit. You were right about that one. It was a bad idea. We almost ended the entire world, somehow, but - I mean, it took a miracle, and we got one. The world was ending, and then it wasn't, and then we were all fine, like this was just supposed to happen.
And then you were back.
And then Asriel was back.
And then Noelle was smiling again.
And then mom and dad stopped fighting.
And then you saw me, and it was like the only thing that didn't go back to normal for even a day was whatever there was between us.
Which, like, okay, this is all, just, already extremely unfair, but that's the worst part. You didn't ask for there to be anything between us, and I'm pretty sure you didn't want there to be anything between us, but between when I saw you again and then, I thought- I imagined there was. And I pretended it was real. I thought, the whole time, walking through the dark, I knew what was and what wasn't, but I was just buying into my own flavor of bullshit and acting like the one thing that mattered to me was real when it wasn't.
That would have been fine, though. The Roaring stopped, the world un-ended, and everything was where it was supposed to be, right?
And at first, I was fine with that, because I was always a little further away from you than everyone else- either because I was standing behind my brother, or beside your sister, or just somewhere else that wasn't next to you. But it felt like you were keeping me at an arm's distance, and that feeling just never stopped. I hope I'm imagining things again, that I'm just pretending there's something happening where it's just - nothing, but it's hard.
I don't know what I did wrong. I know there was something. There had to be, it must have been something I did, or didn't do, because you could barely look at me. Everyone else wanted your attention, but for some reason, I really thought I'd be the one to get it, right? Something. Anything. But I noticed so, so many things I wish I didn't. You left rooms a little after I entered them. You dodged the diner if you saw me in it. You were always good at just slipping out of places you didn't want to be in, and wedging into places you did want to be in.
Why are none of those places you are now the places where I am?
You can't blame someone for something they didn't do. But it feels like you blamed me. And it feels like I'm blaming you.
I'm sorry. For that, specifically, and everything else.
This whole time, you know- I've just been dancing around it, honestly, something important that I want to say, and it was the only thing I wanted to write down anywhere, but-
I don't know. I guess, maybe if I made it long enough, you'd never get to this part, and you wouldn't have to read it, and better yet, I wouldn't have to write it, but that's not how this works. At all.
I started out thinking I knew how I'd write it but it just kept getting jumbled up every time I thought of it. I know the words I want to write, I just have no idea how I want to write them, because - if I write them a certain way, everything breaks, and if I write them another way, everything burns. I shouldn't write them at all, when it comes to that, but after dealing with-
Well, you know. The inevitable. Destiny. Fate. Prophecies.
I really just can't hold onto them anymore. I don't want it. I need to put it out there somewhere, because at least it won't be weighing me down like an anvil every time I think of you.
(That's a lie, by the way. We both know - or, I know, I don't have any clue what you think of me anymore - that it'll weigh exactly the same, just in two places instead of one.)
So, I guess- there's one thing that I need to put on you. This one's on purpose. It's your decision to make, because for once, I don't want to decide.
However you read this is however I wrote it.
I'm sorry. Again.
I love you sincerely go fuck yourself.
Love,
Kris
P.S. here's an extra period for you. Put it wherever you want it in that sentence.
.