I have had this fascination with wondering if anyone is writing about me. It generally comes along whenever I am admiring someone random who is living without knowing that I am thinking—going beyond thinking, writing—about them. That I am floating in someone else’s memory makes me want to remain afloat. Some people whom I want to know they are being written about:

Dear Jenna,
You are my inspiration to keep trying to be inspiring.

Dear Ryan,
My love for you is to the moon and back, making it officially taller than you.

Dear Sena,
Never have I wanted to be matching with someone more (in all senses of the word).

Dear Roman,
I think you know more about me than I do, but I’m glad that it’s you.

Dear Jerry,
I’m just really glad to see that you still have your Nordstrom-employee style wits about you.

Dear Ananda,
Your name means “bliss” in Sanskrit, if you didn’t know.

Dear Katie,
You changed me.

Dear Rob,
I’m so glad to look like you on the inside.

Dear Chris,
Thank you for taking me seriously since seventh grade.

Dear Mrs. R.,
You said you wouldn’t forget, and I think you have, but that’s OK.

Dear Valerie,
You are beautiful.

Dear Mr. M.,
Please reply.

Dear God,
I’m sorry. ♦