7 Letters: Letter 1

Dear Twenty-Four Year Old You,

I kind of imagined this moment, where I would bump into you and everything would make sense in my life. A moment where I could lay my eyes on you, and everything would slow down. I would take a breath and just know that everything would change. I always knew it would happen like this. Unexpected and painfully slow. Like coming into contact with something foreign yet too fascinating to look away from. And there you were. With your perfect dark hair, and those soft hazel eyes and that smile that made my heart skip a beat. That smile...it haunted me for years. I had no idea who it belonged to, but it was enough to keep a girl up at night. Everywhere I went, I compared you to every guy I saw. Strangers sipping coffee on sidewalks, mysterious men on motorcycles wearing black leather jackets, the everyday heroes that stopped crime and put out fires. Artists that painted their souls on blank canvases with worn out paintbrushes or poured their hearts out using nothing but a broken heart and an acoustic guitar. I didn't want you to be any of those faceless people.

I didn't want you to be anything but mine.

Sincerely,

Twenty-Four Year Old Me.