[That's not fair. That's not fair. Two simple words, signed and spelled out, exactly as they had been back then. Two words meant to close things, end things, and it hadn't been enough then and it's not enough now. One last glimpse of him and two simple words, and then darkness. And then absence. No monster-shaped hole in the world or in his life, sometimes not even a name to put to it, just a few scattered memories and absence, absence.]
[He tried so hard. Held on so damn tightly, when half the time he wished he could just forget the name and the monster who went with it. Forget the bad and forget the good in equal measure. Staring at the pieces of a world shattered and glued back together. Entropy in a closed system always increases. A glass falls off a table and breaks and no matter what you do, no matter what you do, it can never, ever be made unbroken.]
[He had given up. And it had killed him. It made it so much easier to give up on other things, one by one, until he had given up on almost everything.]
[Two words can't possibly sum all of that up. It's not enough.]
[It's never enough.]
[It's only...sufficient.]
[So he smiles, like always. Lifts his hands one more time.]
[Sans hadn't had time for words back then. Hadn't gotten to actually say goodbye.]
[Might as well do it right.]
[So he spells it out in his font, two words, like Gaster does now and like he did then.]
no subject
[He tried so hard. Held on so damn tightly, when half the time he wished he could just forget the name and the monster who went with it. Forget the bad and forget the good in equal measure. Staring at the pieces of a world shattered and glued back together. Entropy in a closed system always increases. A glass falls off a table and breaks and no matter what you do, no matter what you do, it can never, ever be made unbroken.]
[He had given up. And it had killed him. It made it so much easier to give up on other things, one by one, until he had given up on almost everything.]
[Two words can't possibly sum all of that up. It's not enough.]
[It's never enough.]
[It's only...sufficient.]
[So he smiles, like always. Lifts his hands one more time.]
[Sans hadn't had time for words back then. Hadn't gotten to actually say goodbye.]
[Might as well do it right.]
[So he spells it out in his font, two words, like Gaster does now and like he did then.]
goodbye, gaster.