To the man I called Father

Jason,

You told me years ago not to be worried or consume myself with time, but time consumes us all. I can't come to terms with the pressures: carrying on the family name alone I now realize is a futile endeavor; I loved you all, but none of you could see it. I couldn't protect Caddy, I couldn't please mother, and I couldn't garner your affection: only now in this late hour do I see my folly.

The shadow had been creeping in for a long time now, and now I know what to do, what its beckoned me to do. I won't be able to see the boat races from the shore this year, but I might get a chance to see them up close. You had told me that my feelings were meaningless, and soon they will be. If I could call Caroline mother, perhaps I could've confided in her my guilt over Caddy's tragedy; if you had taken some stock into my alarm, my tragedy, perhaps I could work through it, redeem it somehow. But it's meaningless to you, despicable to Caroline, my shame is meaningless to you, despicable to Caroline.

It's too late for all of us, I tried to stop time, to stop it from consuming me; but the incessant ticking refused to cease. I know how to stop it now. The world forgot me, forgot my responsibilities; the Dalton Ames' and  Gerald Blands' run the world. They're the ones the Caddys' love, the ones that will move forward. I know you won't be upset--because it's all meaningless--but this is the only way to preserve the family and salvage the virtues that made the Compsons great.    

Tell Caddy I love her, tell her sorry I couldn't take care of Benjy. Tell Caroline she should've sent Jason. You were wrong though, you should have taken me, and yourselves, more seriously.