INNER WARMTH

Dear _____,

I am honestly sorry for the way I have treated your life like something to be viewed and studied for my entertainment. Yet, here I am, still doing just that. I know I won't stop; I know that I can't. Maybe it's silly that I should even bother apologizing. Apparently, I don't really mean it.

But your life is so amazingly brilliant. It's like a light in the darkness, to use a horribly hackneyed expression. Every sign I see of you and your life - every photograph, every word that you wrote or spoke with such elegance - does not shine, but pulses with an inner warmth. In everything I see of you, I can feel you. You are alive.

You would laugh, to read this, to see me writing (typing) this; but I don't care. I wish you would read it, and if I were to see you, I would tell you every word of it. Despite your reputation for egotism, despite others' constant praise of you, I don't think that this has been impressed properly upon you: you are a good person.

You are real, human, and good. You lived your life. You lived your life like very few people ever bothered to live theirs. You put something of yourself into everything you did, and that is why I can be confident that I love you. I truly, honestly love you. It's as simple as that.

Sincerely,
_____

ps: you are really sexy, too.