Years from now, when the rest of the world catches up with us and realizes what a fantastic show this was, we’ll be able to look back and say, “I was there.” And, yes, I realize I’m making it sound as though Fringe is, like, the signing of the Declaration of Independence or something, but it was a truly monumental moment in television—one that I’m incredibly grateful to have witnessed. And I’m glad that you were there with me.

Every once in a while you come across a television show, or a movie, or a book that is so unquestionably great that it gives you a kind of cathartic experience. When a story comes together so exquisitely, it’s like the perfect song, or, to use a comparison that Walter would approve of, like baking the perfect soufflé—where all the elements coalesce in just the right way to create a masterpiece. When you find this rare work of collective genius, it’s like a key that reaches into your soul and unlocks every emotion that the human spirit is capable of feeling, flooding your senses with an entire spectrum of sensations all at once, making the story feel more real than reality itself. After all, that’s what stories are: alternate realities. They allow us to experience things that we can’t imagine on our own, feel things we’ve never felt before, and discover worlds that are different from the one we live in. I, for one, am so grateful to have spent the past five seasons living part-time in the world of Fringe. (Both of them.) In the words of Walter Bishop, “I think I shall miss them…more than I imagined.”