Tonight I will write the most genuine lines.
Like most people from small towns, I have always kept to myself— content with my quiet, unassuming life. You must imagine to what degree I must have been unsettled then to overcome my reservedness and that too with you, a person who I consider to be simultaneously intimidating and infinitely fascinating.
One thing I know for sure: it is pointless to hope that I will be able to forge the words to faultlessly describe how I feel for you. Doing so would only be an effort in futility. There are a thousand words and each one is inadequate. All I can say is that it had everything to do with the conversations that had unfolded between us.
I have, since our last meeting, often pondered over the magic of real human conversation. In our society’s growing inability for nuance, to make the acquaintance of your soul— and all of its subtleties— was a welcome change. You were spontaneously eloquent and your words, immediately of deep relevance. I would love for nothing more than to pry open your mind— pick it apart and map it to my satisfaction.
I only hope that the content of our exchanges were worth discussing for you, regardless of how you feel about me. I am an inadequate speaker, you see. I am not physically attractive, either— at least not by conventional standards. Writing to you, in all my besotted earnestness, is wherefore the only strategy left to have any probable success in seeking your favour.
It is worth noting that my feelings for you are of a different order entirely. It is not physical, although I must admit; there was a particular gesture— you looking back at me, your head tilted ever so slightly, and the lights hit you just so— that finally did me over. I cannot explain it, but know that you give me such joy. Time and distance, thus far, have only served to intensify my wonder for you.
I invoke the kind of love, which will illuminate every fibre in my being. A kind of love, unmarred by the trivial concern of its final outcome. And for this, I will eagerly anticipate your reply. I require nothing more than your sincere opinion of me. I understand that you may instead see my plea as more pest than praise, therefore I will harbour no resentment if you were to end this correspondence by means of silence and shall persist in being,