O Deanna

This is Deanna Lynn Dunavant-Bullington. It's a complicated name; she was a complicated girl. In November 20'9 she died in a most horrible manner. I write this now because it's Halloween, the holiday that which suited her best. She tore this picture into shreds--and, briefly, I hated her for that. She hated it because her hair was dirty and she had no makeup on. I thought she was beautiful. Luckily for me, all things considered, I still have the negative--shot with my Patricka body and a 50mm f/1.8 lens--and she's not around to complain. She begged me to love her, and I did; but I wouldn't tell her so. Love, to me, was a toxic thing. I suppose it still is.

Maybe I don't know how to say it, but I love you Deanna. I'm sorry I wasn't the man you wanted me to be. In dreams, I hold you in my arms--Will is there too, alive and well, purring on your bosom while Georgia Peach nestles with Whitney in the other room. I loved you so much, even if I never said the words. I hope you knew that, in your final moments. I'm so sorry I ever let you out of my sight. Rest in peace, my love. I'll see you in Hell.

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