dear bobby,
i write you on a lonely Friday night when there's nothing left in me. i write although the words will never reach you in your surburban never-land. i write you because i've loved you since before i knew you existed. i loved you a million years ago in another love i had. my love for you is quiet, an innocent thing i've never felt. my love for the others was more exciting, touching me in those secret places. although you've never reached those places, you've always meant more because you were always in my heart, even when i didn't know you were there. it's a pure love that comes from a place i've never belonged in before this moment. dear bobby, i'm so dark inside from a million years ago.
i spent all last night looking at pictures of you, trying to figure you out. unlock the secrets shining in your eyes from the glossy paper. i have spent months trying to decode your thoughts and your actions. i have struggled with the functions of my heart; trying to make sure that this is in fact love. i do believe it is. i wish i could free you of any strife, of all confusion, i wish i could show you only beauty, none of the darkness and the pain that so completely and totally fills me late at night when no one is there to see. so, i lay my heart out to you. i let you know here and now that i love you and will go wherever and do whatever it takes to make you see me.
love, me.