My dear Oscar,

Flores … flores por los mortes … could be wrong … what do I know …. it is the sentiment Oscar, dear, it is the sentiment of butterfly wings and silken petals to rain down on you, stick to your eyelids, glorify and rest you.

I wish you rest and glory and sanctification for what they put you through. Still goes on. Worse. Murders and lynching and gaslighting queer folk. Making them pay a price for others as you paid the price for all the others … just a need to stay alive at the root of it. No time for frippery when the cold hard chips of survival are down. Only humanity clinging on. I sort of understand it, but Oscar, Oscar, you deserved and deserve the very best.

Your friend,

Algernon B. Duffoure.