You listen to me. I’ve been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I’ve seen things you couldn’t imagine, and done things I prefer you didn’t. Don’t exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I’ve only my blood, which doesn’t exactly rush in the direction of my brain, so I make a lot of mistakes, a lot of wrong, bloody calls. A hundred plus years, and there’s only one thing I’ve ever been sure of - you. Hey, look at me. I’m not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it’s not because I want you, or because I can’t have you, and it has nothing to do with me. I love what you are. What you do. How you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you, and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You are a hell of a woman. You’re the one, Buffy.