Healing from love for a Dead Girl

Jennings looked at him, his expression hard. He knew this was more than just a longing for someone who was gone. This was a search for himself, a search for meaning in the chaos that this girl's death had left. He could have said again that it was all just a photograph, that Peter had simply fallen in love with the image. But he knew that wouldn't help.

"If you can't forget her, Peter, why don't you take this picture from me? I'll give it to you for free. You think it has some meaning. You want to hold it, look at it over and over again, search for answers in that look. So why don't you take it? Maybe that way you can forget, if you look at it on your desk and not just in your head."

Peter was silent. Those same thoughts he couldn't get rid of started to run through his head again. He felt the anxiety growing inside him, a weight hanging on his chest, making it hard to catch his breath. But he couldn't just take the photo and give it to that empty feeling. He was looking for answers - not in the picture, not in the girl's eyes. He was looking inside himself.

Jennings, noticing the silence, spoke again, holding back his irritation but trying to remain calm.

"Peter, can't you hear me? I said I'd give it away. You want it, take it." He paused, then added, with a hint of mockery in his voice, "It's not like you're going to buy it at auction. You're fixated on this picture, and it's just a job. The model, the light, the lens - everything."

Peter stood before the photograph, his vision clouded. He could almost feel the weight of this overwhelming feeling on his chest, the desire to hold the photograph in his hands at odds with his inner fear. The fear of being pulled back into that emptiness, into that silent question in her eyes, over and over again.

"You don't understand, Jennings..." His voice was so quiet it could barely be heard. He took a step toward the photograph, but then suddenly stopped, as if the very act of approaching it might cause irreversible consequences. "I can't just take it. I... I can't keep it in my house.

Jennings, with a frown on his face, didn't immediately understand what Peter meant. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes becoming more penetrating, trying to catch the essence of what Peter was hiding.

"Why?" he asked, calmly, but with a hint of growing bewilderment. "What's the problem? If you want it, take it. I told you it was free."

Peter felt the nervous tremors creeping through his body again. He tried to find the words, but they wouldn't come. He knew his explanation would be inappropriate, that Jennings wouldn't understand, but he tried anyway.

"If I take her," he said with obvious effort, "I'll see her eyes every day, every minute. And... and I'll ask myself over and over again what she wanted to tell me. I'll turn her gaze over and over in my head, like a prisoner. She'll be there, in my room, and I... I'll go crazy, Jennings. I can't live with it.

Jennings frowned, listening intently, but his expression was rather skeptical. He stepped toward Peter, clapping him on the shoulder with a hint of mockery.

"You're exaggerating, Peter. Can she really talk to you through a photograph? You know she's just an actress. Just a model for a photo. It's just a job, not some mystical cult. You're overreacting. It's not that big of a tragedy that she died. It doesn't change what you see in the picture."

But Peter couldn't contain his inner tension. His gaze was hard and his voice was full of despair.

"No, you don't understand!" he exclaimed, almost shouting. "You don't know what goes on in my head when I look at her. She's not just a photo, not just a model. I can't forget her, I can't just leave her, as you say, "work". I feel her gaze piercing me, and the more I look, the more she becomes a part of my life. I can't take her, because if I do, she will become a part of me, like a disease. And I will miss her, think about her. As if she lives in my house, will watch my every step, ask her silent questions."

Jennings stood there, confused, his expression growing serious. He seemed to realize that Peter was serious, but he still couldn't quite understand what was driving him. He was a photographer, and to him, pictures were just snapshots, results of work that could be discarded, forgotten, and started over again with a clean slate. But Peter... Peter was different.

Peter stood by the window, his gaze directed nowhere, his whole body compressed in some internal struggle. He felt something inside him collapsing, like an unbearable weight growing with each glance at the photograph. He could no longer look at her. He could no longer perceive her gaze as something external, alien. This picture had ceased to be just a photograph - for him, she had become a living being. And each of her silent words echoed in his head.

And then, when he couldn't take it anymore, when the feeling of despair became simply unbearable, he turned around and covered his face with his hands. His whole body suddenly shook with sobs, and no force in the world could hold him back. He felt how everything inside him suddenly collapsed, and he didn't want to hold back any longer.

Jennings didn't know what to do when he saw him. He was never good at comforting, especially when he didn't understand what was going on. He walked over to Peter and put his hand on his shoulder, trying to distract him somehow, to make him feel like everything was going to be okay. But what could he say at a time like this?

"Peter..." his voice was quiet, but there was not only confusion in it, but also some sympathy. "I don't understand what's happening to you. It's just a photo. I'm sorry, I can't help you if you don't want to help yourself."

But Peter only shook with tears, unable to answer. His whole being was filled with this longing, this awareness that he could not bring her back, could not answer her silent question. With each passing moment his pain grew stronger, and his consciousness slipped further and further from reality, leaving him with this empty, meaningless question to which he did not know the answer.