Sam
I might take you up on it for a week or so. Dean's been more than great but he sort of treats me like I can't take care of myself. Last night, he asked if I needed any more pillows on my bed? I'm just happy that I can sleep on a bed. That I can sleep.
I didn't say that to make you feel more guilty. I'm sure the guilt's been eating at you for a while now and it wasn't your fault. Bad things happen to people all the time, Sam. Sometimes you just can't do anything about it. Sure, that demon, whatever, was looking to hurt you through me, but you know what? You're still letting it hurt, and that's just giving in to more than you need. I'm over it. You should be, too. So I died. I'm here now, right?
I'm mad at you, yeah. But I don't want to stop talking to you. You're you. I'm not just saying I'm happy for you to be polite. I really am. I'm glad that you moved on, that you pushed through. But I'm a little jealous. I'm only angry because I don't know if the guy I love... loved was just a facade you put on or a dream of what you wanted to be, or actually you.
I'm really confused. I'm not dead, but I can still do things I... I learned to do when I was in the in-between. I don't know what I am. If I'm a ghost, or alive, or somewhere in between the two, and it's making me furious that I don't know. I should at least KNOW what I am, you know?
Okay. I'm just... Rambling now, sorry.
Sam, I don't know. I don't know if you want to see me again, or if that would be too painful. Dean told me how much you tore yourself up over my death. But if... And when you want to, I'd really like to see you, one way or another.