(found totally in a place that totally has nothing to do with him)
Oh my dear, Dearie, my dear,
See, I’m writing this while drunk. I might rewrite it, just to make it legible or coherent, but the ideas are going to be the same, I think.
(Editor’s Note: The original copy was both fairly legible and coherent.)
I’ve just spent an hour and a half trapped in the same room with you, Dearie, trapped with you in a room while a man droned on and on about the importance of lavender cultivation to the future of all humanity. It was something like that, I think. I wasn’t really paying attention. I was staring at you, Dearie. I was actually trying so hard to keep from staring at you, and I was failing spectacularly for an hour and a half.
But that’s only half the truth. See, Dearie, I’ve spent this whole year, this whole time – however long it’s been – trying so hard to keep from staring at you, and I haven’t done a great job at it.
There’s some glorious, fantastic, and horrendously foolish middle school quality to the way I feel about you, and I don’t know what it is. I don’t even know how to explain it. But it’s there. So I’ll just try to say it.
It may be one of those things that’s probably best left unsaid, but it feels too important to forget, so I’m going to write it down, and I’m going to send it straight to you.
Dearie, I’ll just say that every single time I’ve seen you, I’ve smiled, and I’ve smiled in a way that I just couldn’t help. Dearie, every single time I’ve tried with everything I could come up with to make you smile too, and whenever you did, I’d be nearly blinded, to be honest. Sunsets don’t seem as pretty, Dearie, now that I’ve seen your smile. Nothing does, and I fear that I’ll be ruined for a good long while.
So listen, maybe there’s some magic window of time when we could get dinner or a drink or just sit on a beach somewhere and listen to the waves crash down against the sand. You can watch the sunset. I’ll just watch you.
I’m going to have some more vodka and maybe sleep well for once in my life.