My child, through the post and into your hands,
to you, these words I write go to.
Much we share, much I, as of yet, know nothing of, but there are some things I do "
what with your story being born from my head.
For instance, I know that we possess a mutual fascination with the dead.
No,this isn’t a grievance or a complaint, nor is it a blot to
taint...
My sweetest, my dear-heart, my Billie Ray...
Darling, bear with me; this is hard to say.
I know you, but, I can’t help thinking, in spades,
that you’ll be the death of
me one day.