Dear Celestia,
If you are reading this, then I am no longer alive. The years blend together. After a while, a day feels like an hour and an hour a day. Eventually, the world is a blur. Writing this feels like no more than a second, though I have labored for many hours.
As an immortal being, you will have certain responsibilities, but I am certain you will be able to take over my role. It’s in your nature, after all. The problem with being immortal, then, is the mortality of the mind. A mind can only hold so much. It has room for a great deal. However, even its full capacity cannot hold more than a drop in the bucket of infinity. Eventually, the time comes to reset the clock. While I was young, I valued the rising sun above all. It brought life and beginnings. Only with time have I come to appreciate the setting sun. You are welcome to disagree, but it seems to me that the ending is what gives purpose to life.
I don’t expect you to understand these words now, but if you do, it is your right to deny them. Indeed! Do so! Draw your own conclusions! The world is young, as are you. It is your birthday, after all. So go on, celebrate. Celebrate your youth. Don’t give a second thought to the future, you have so much of it. Wisdom will come with time. Tragedy will rear its head, but you’ll manage somehow, I’m sure. Don’t you dare mourn me. You are doing what I would have wanted. Indeed, what I did.
Your friend,
Celestia
A/N: I would like to thank Ambion for graciously agreeing to proof this thing before I put it up. He gave it a great deal of cohesion and symbolism it might not have otherwise had.