Dear Adrienne, it's not just your character who left behind a love letter but you yourself, in making this movie of such skill and such understanding of life, of women and of men too. Despite having women friends, despite being more psychologically akin to women in attitude and sexual choice too for that matter, though I can't claim to "understand" women, it was most of all your film's portrayal of effects of violence on women (and for me--of straight men on the lives of gay men too) that got me, emotionally, kept me riveted and, though far from being a guy who cries at movies, made me surprise myself that way. I was weeping like a baby at the end. I shouted out in the middle of the movie as your protagonist waitress was being abused by this creep--warning you to leave him, get out of town, do anything except put up with him--and the lack of a life he was foisting on her--in the end, on you. Dear A, how can I take the advice of critics who say art is different than life and I'm ignoring the great art if I just take home the male-violence lesson? How can people not see a connection between the way you were murdered--its unforgiveable resort to violence by a man--and the things you were (I guess) trying to put across as your own personal life-lessons in the movie, despite its legal disclaimer at the end? I'll end here. My heart breaks to think of what was stolen from you. love, Bruce