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This is something I'm working on for Less Than Three press, and I hope I finish it on time to be submitted. If not, I have a backup plan for where it can go, but I wouldn't be paid for that :/ AH WELL I CAN ONLY TRY

I think the whole thing resonated so well because it started with a letter. Not an email, text message, status update or tweet. An honest-to-God letter, handwritten no less. My name was written in the very center of the envelope, precise and neat, like it was from someone who took pride in the process of sliding pen over paper. The lost art of writing.

The return address was a PO box with no name, nothing to give me a hint about who had sent it, other than it was mailed in this town. That didn't narrow it down nearly enough for me.

I opened it during my lunch break, careful to keep my iced tea from spilling its contents or its condensation onto the envelop or its contents. I don't know what I expected, but whatever it was, it wasn't what I got.

It didn't smell like flowers or perfume. It wasn't pink or decorated with flowers. It wasn't on delicate stationery. It was however on paper that looked like old parchment, and it was definitely a love letter. The words, written in the same perfect handwriting as the address, were few as if the writer feared overwhelming me with too much too soon. The last few words struck me the most.

“There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.
There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled.
You feel it, don't you?”

It wasn't signed. I actually had a secret admirer.