There is no perfect point, only a cross-pathed mess of near grabs, almost hads and overs. We’ll see, late, we were a time waste, hoping for a moment to strike, a Biblical revelation, movie-like regeneration, collage scrap fitting an exact left space when, really, life’s a crapshoot, and we’ll be dead soon wishing we’d taken the other when we could’ve except, when you’re dead, there aren’t wishes any more or regrets and any statement of what there is which I could make would be an arrogant stamp, smug snatch at a concept I’m uncomfortable with. But, we should’ve kissed.
I hoped that you’d get together but I hoped that too with Joey and Dawson and I’ve never recovered from that wrong choosing, even when I said I had, got determined to pick my own Pacey even though flaky men and downright liars aren’t my type, but some women are impressionable, impressed with bullshit stories and outdoor sex and boats and unbuttoned top buttons.
This is the 6 episode tease as the end unravels although, actually, the end started way back, when Mum birthed the last of us. Since then we’ve been treading water, ready to contaminate us all by 2018. Or, you know, a comet or something.