My dear Dead Poets,

My friends, my friends. There is so much more I wanted to be for you. I wish I had been a man more deserving of your loyalty and your affection. I wish I had been able to reciprocate your intense generosity. I wish I had brought you to great heights and let you bask in the rays of great accomplishment. You were too good for me. I count each day with every one of you as the blessing of my lifetime. I wish I had done better by you. I tried my best for you, I truly did.

There has never been a greater group. I was humbled to be your Don, and more than that, your friend.

Nikki, my Cecelia, I could not have reached as high as I did without your constant encouragement. You made me believe that I could do more than anyone else had before here. I will never be able to thank you enough.

Mak, I'm so sorry for my part in your fall. You were the only friend to follow us to LA unquestioningly and you earned your position as my RH every day. I'm so proud and grateful for you help. I would not have been half the Don I was without your help.

Dub, you know how much this pains me. There's nothing more I need say.

Finnigan, you were the first Dead Poet to be made, and the only person to ask to join us when we started up. You were a man deserving better and yet you gave me your loyalty, and your writing, for that I will cherish your friendship forever.

Darkee, you came back to the game just to hang out with us. You were a staunch ally since we were in Broadway and I wish I could have had more time with you.

Havana, you were only the second person I made into a Dead Poet. You were a gentle soul and such a talented writer, I wish I could have seen your talent bloom more under my banner.

LouisDelRossi, my friend, I'm sorry we couldn't do all we'd dreamed to do. Some days the cynics win. I will continue to rely on your striking dedication to the art and cherish the time I had with you as a Poet, when I could call you one of mine.

UnfaithfulDurden, you did so much for me in so short a time, I was undeserving of your loyalty and I'm sorry it cost you so much.

Vexacion, you were just finding your voice. Do not lose it. Remember the pen will always be mightier than the sword. New days come. Stories end and are rewritten again.

Lanna_and_Shini, you were with us from Broadway and you were always a fierce friend. I'm sorry it ended this way.

John_Shoaltz, Freddie_Lou, Keats and James-Sullivan, I will never regret making you Poets. If I were promised a thousand other deaths and a thousand other heartbreaks for your companionship again, I would take it with a happy spirit. Thank you for believing in my dream enough to be apart of it. I'm sorry I could not bring it to fruition.

I did not realize how tightly you had wrapped yourselves around my heart until now.

I will remain forever your proud and humbled Don,

Cesare Torretta, THE Dead Poet.

Pimp held back the tears as his former Don came to the streets with a heavy heart. He had only been apart of the family for a whole day, but it had been the best god damned day of his life. He finally had the feeling of settlement he had been looking for for such a long time. He felt safe, he felt appreciated, and he felt strong.  

He layed a rose and kissed the big man on the cheek, before the tears started to well down his eyes.

Tears rolled down Calypso's porcelain face as she heard many great things not only about her mother, but also about the fantastic people she used to work with. She knew that Havana viewed the Dead Poets much more than a crew she worked under, but a family she loved. A home where she always felt welcome, and a home that will be irreplaceable in her heart.

Although Calypso never personally met the people her mother worked with, she practically knew each of their personalities through the detailed stories her mother always told her. She nodded along to the words of the stranger on the street, and wiped away tears as he finished his speech. "Thank you, Mister Torretta." She whispered to the wind, barely even audibly. "For the kind words, but most especially for the time you spent molding my mother into the person she was. Thank you."

A white mare galloped through the streets. Shimmering in the sunlight. Fueled by beauty, the kind found in the depths of one's soul, found through finding one's own voice. Words, scattering with every heavy hoof upon the pavement.

It carrier with it a dear friend, on its last ride. Once more around its stomping grounds, the streets, before it ascended into the heavens in a fiery blaze. Some say animals take the soul of the deceased home. Like on the wings of a dove, or a crow.

Yet what if they were already there? What if their life was the very embodiment of love itself. What then? Louis Del Rossi found his heart as a dead poet. He was free. And with a foot firmly planted and hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, his spirit roamed the streets.. in a 1933 Chrysler CL Imperial Convertible Roadster.