An open (love)letter

I read your words and couldn’t help but feel like I knew you on some deep and personal level that could only be explained by shared thoughts, subtle word choices and -isms. The way that I fall in love with strangers has gotten to the point where all it takes is a few words (written, spoken), a few pictures, and I am hooked. A fish on a line. You are the wriggling worm, the lure shinning in the shallows; I am beached on your shores.

And you… you are the very last person who will read this thinking it’s about you, but I think I like that. I think I like how humble and unaware of your own grandeur you are. I hope that, even though you’ll laugh and brush the idea away from your brain—like dust from the covers of your old favorite books—somewhere deep inside, if only for a moment, you will think this letter is for you (because it is). The willing suspension of disbelief.

I love you and my God, you’re beautiful. I am leaving my house all dressed up in your words, searching back months and months to read your thoughts, falling asleep tucked into the notion that you hardly know that I exist. You are a prayer in a chorus of funeral dirges, whirling about the curves and valleys of my ears. And when you wrote my name, I was mystified, stupefied. Please share your words with me, please share your thoughts and everythings with me, I think you’re brilliant, enduring, good.

Though I do not know you, have never met your eyes, and might not for the rest of my life, though to each other we are secrets, though I am sure that I probably seem crazed,

I love you. Thank you for existing.