I’m trying very hard to give Elizabeth the fairy tale.
So—I think we’re done corresponding at this point in time, right now.
I’m signing off for good.
There will not be another letter.
You can move on to your next assignment, or—if you were never real in the first place—you can just blink out of existence forever.
Regardless of whether you are just a figment of my imagination or not, I thank you for reading all of my words, even if we were both only pretending—thank you for being there when I didn’t have anyone else, and for simply listening without judgment.
I wish you much luck with your struggles.
I trust you will free Tibet yet—and I will celebrate your accomplishment when it comes to be.
And please feel free to share Mom’s philosophy with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.
I’m going to miss you, but I really think this has to be my last letter.
Dr. Hanson’s orders.
The you-me Richard Gere of pretending has run its course.
And there are real people here with me now—people who just might stick around.
Good-bye, Richard Gere.
Your admiring fan,
Bartholomew Neil