My great-aunt Velma officially “died a virgin,” as if that’s something you announce to your family on your death bed. This is, i’ve been told, Ian, the guy who wrote her mysterious dirty postcards from places more exotic than Ohio, where she spent her life establishing herself as the Watson family eccentric. Based on i don’t know what, i’ve heard several times that Velma and i would have gotten along, and it’s too bad we never met.
I’ve had these photos framed together for years (there’s a third in the series, but it’s blurred and in Arizona), and brought them to this house from the cabin on the hill a couple days ago. I’ve had Ian on various walls since college. Is it weird to have some kind of crush on my dead virgin great-aunt’s dead maybe-lover?