is it okay if I call you Heath? Or do you prefer mr. Ledger? I guess it doesn’t matter now. It’s all semantics. And I really love your name, I always have. Well, at least ever since I read Wuthering Heights for the first time. So, Heath…this is extremely difficult. And obviously very odd, but for some reason, I felt like I have to do this. I have to write you, a complete stranger that I’ve never even been close to knowing, a stranger that isn’t even in this world anymore, a letter. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve seen all of your movies. I’m not going to act like your performances on the silver screen saved my life. No, it’s not like that. To you, I’m just another insignificant, little human on this planet with billions of people. One tiny human who happens to know who you are. I don’t matter at all, do I? Well, you do. For some reason, you have changed me. And I ask myself, why you? Why not one of the millions of other known people who exist? Granted, the change occurred after your…death. But still. You’re not the first person to die under similar circumstances, so why are you the one that stuck? I don’t know. There’s just something about you, a certain something that can’t be put into words. When you died, everything shifted. No no, don’t fret, this isn’t some lovesick fangirl letter. I’m not stupid enough to think that it all revolves around me. But there was a change in me. In fact, there was a change in everyone. The whole world altered. And now there’s a glitch, things are slightly off. I can feel it in the air. Like something’s missing, you know? The souls of the people who live here on the planet all flow together and form a unity, but when you died, a hole was formed. A Heath-shaped hole that left the unity a little empty, and even though the remaining souls bled out to fill that hole, there is still one soul missing, and the unity is a little less harmonious. Why did you have to go and leave us Heath? Why? I don’t know exactly how or why you died. Or, at least I didn’t. Now, after searching on Wikipedia, I see that you died of an overdose of prescription meds. That it was an accident, caused by your heavy addiction. By the way, it must be strange to still have your whole life written out on one page. Or at least your public life. I guess that your movies aren’t the only thing that helps you live on, huh? Anyways, back to the topic. Your addiction. Why the fuck didn’t you get help? I’m actually a little mad at you right now, Heath. For being so careless. But of course, that anger is mixed with guilt, because I know that addiction causes weakness. And I can’t really go around saying what you should and should not have done, because I really don’t have any idea how it is to be you. How it was to be you. So I’ll just ask why. A question that isn’t directed at you, me, or anyone else in particular. It’s a question I ask the universe. A pathetic whimper to the eerie quiet of the infinite darkness. An echo that is met with complete silence. And I know that it’s useless to ask, that there are times when we all just need to move along. But I’ve never been quite fond of that idea. To move along. I like to linger. To twist and turn the thoughts in my head until there is nothing left but dust. I’m still waiting for that to happen to the thoughts I have about you. Maybe this letter will help. Maybe not. Maybe I don’t want it to help. Maybe you’ll read this. But probably not. You never know though, right? You never know. So exactly why am I writing this? Even though your films will live on forever, you’ve clearly left us. And I can tell. I think about it all the time. I’m writing this so that you know that the planet misses you. I’m writing this to say that nothing will ever be the same without you. Ever. And most of all, I write this to tell you, Heath, named after one of my dearest Byronic heroes, that I truly do hope that you’ve found some peace over there. I write this to say farewell. Farewell, Heath.
Heath Andrew Ledger
★ 4 April 1979 ✝ 22 January 2008