Dear “somebody”,

I hope this letter finds you well!

And hello dad! And hello to whomever else among family and friends that I have shared this little secret with regarding a certain well-known public figure whom I’ve claimed knows all about a certain personal story about me, along with the media content that I created and letters I wrote that go along with it. I guess this letter is for those imaginary friends I seem to believe aren’t just in my head. They’re actually reading this, honest! But really, I have nothing to lose, so what’s a little humiliation?

It’s getting closer to Valentine’s Day, you know. The last few months my mind has been very busy processing all the incredible layers to this revelation— the good, the not-so-good, and the not-so-pretty. In any great story there’s always conflict, but the greatest is usually from within, so best not let myself get attached to any expectations or end result, though, because it still “remains” to be seen, after all, what will come of this. I have to be honest— some mornings I have woken up wondering if I should just say nothing and forget this whole thing— again— like what I did a decade ago. It would be so much easier on my li’l heart not having to wonder what am I supposed to do next?

A year ago I revisited this story from my past in my homesick condition, contemplated what I “didn’t say” all those years ago, and how it might have affected a certain person. I missed a few things back then and over the years (and wasn’t looking to find them out, either), and I would come to feel some regret for the first time in my life after seeing her again for the first time last year since New Year’s Eve 2010.

[begin flashback scene]

I can’t forget that scene of getting to the show early, me approaching her and getting ignored, then tapping her on the shoulder as she walked away while calling her name until she finally stopped and turned around to make eye contact. Then that generic greeting and wet noodle handshake. I would congratulate her on her progress in her sobriety before she would break away, then I’d return to my bar stool in the all-ages section and realize that I underestimated the effect on her I had. She would disappear until the show started, leaving her mother confused when she arrived as to why she couldn’t find her, even asking her son-in-law where she was… I wasn’t trying to collect this information, but it would become yet another classic episode I’ve experienced a dozen times before when the things I needed to know would just manifest without effort. From a distance.

I learned something from all of this. I tricked myself back then into believing that she didn’t actually care, because why would she? Even though I saw through the veil, I let doubt dictate my inaction, so I didn’t think I needed to say the words to bring closure. I have now seen the aftermath, so this time, with you, I won’t make the same mistake.

So if you’re reading this, know that I am hoping to meet you in the middle. The only problem is that I don’t know where the middle is! I’m going to need a little help here, so feel free to drop me a line.

This concludes my, um, romantic Valentine’s Day letter to you.

And now to sign this letter with a quote from my religion:

Say: He is not to be numbered with the people of Bahá who followeth his mundane desires, or fixeth his heart on things of the earth. He is My true follower who, if he come to a valley of pure gold, will pass straight through it aloof as a cloud, and will neither turn back, nor pause. Such a man is, assuredly, of Me. From his garment the Concourse on high can inhale the fragrance of sanctity.… And if he met the fairest and most comely of women, he would not feel his heart seduced by the least shadow of desire for her beauty. Such a one, indeed, is the creation of spotless chastity. Thus instructeth you the Pen of the Ancient of Days, as bidden by your Lord, the Almighty, the All-Bountiful.