Dearest Valentine,
I have a few women in my life. They are all
genuinely awesome people, and I care for all of them. I am glad to be
able to call them my friends.
But they are not you. You are more
than a friend. You are the the one person I will be in love with for
life, that state of true, mutual attraction that reaches the top of a
hard-to-define scale so many poets have tried to describe.
We enjoy
each others company. We get each others jokes, share each others woes,
and just being around you makes me feel at ease, like the world is truly
a place where miracles can happen.
I long to be with you, to hold your hand in mine, to see the smile upon your beautiful face as you look upon mine.
You are the Kyoko to my Sayaka, except straight, 'cause I'm a guy.
You are not the Juliet to my Romeo, because that play was just depressing.
And yet... I do not know you. Or if I do, you have yet to reveal yourself.
If it's not too much trouble, could we meet sometime soon? I know we
have our entire lives, but every moment spent without you seems an
eternity.
(And I don't know about you, but it'll take me somewhere
between a week and 12 months to realize you are who you are, so I'd like
to get on that as soon as we can manage it. Let me know when you're
free and I'll find some time in my schedule.)
I write this in the
hopes that one day you will look back and read it. I know I'll have many
other opportunities to say it, but I want to say it now as well because
it cannot be said enough.
Happy Valentines Day. I love you.
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