I’m sorry that it has taken me so long to find you. I hope you won’t be disappointed when we finally do meet. God has been telling me that you won’t be, but I still feel nervous about it sometimes. I’m not as eloquent in person as I am when I write, and although I’m intelligent and ambitious I’m definitely not what you’d call highly educated. I’m not from some fancy pedigreed family either. I live in a tiny apartment in one of the worst neighborhoods in an impoverished city because that’s all I can afford right now, although I’m hoping that that will change as I keep doing my work here.
All I have to offer you is… well, me. And a dream. At least for right now. And all I can do is hope and pray that will be enough.
I go back and forth between believing you’re out there and crashing into the darkest doubt. Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that God actually has someone so amazing out there for me. We’re both getting older after all, and most men seem to be looking for someone much younger than me.
I don’t look or act my age though. I’m one of those incurably wide-eyed people, and I’m not burned out on life, like a lot of other people our age are. Have you had that moment yet when you look around at your family and friends that you grew up with and you finally understand what Allison in The Breakfast Club meant when she said that when you get older your heart dies? But I don’t want my heart to die, and I don’t think you want yours to either. Because I still believe in finding my forever love, to the point where I’m foolish enough to write all of these letters to you in the hope that maybe someday you’ll see them and treasure every one because you’ll know they’re speaking directly from the depths of my undying heart to yours.
But then again, I have the feeling that you’re kind of unconventional, so maybe you’ll be able to look past my age and my socioeconomic status. And maybe you have something you’re worried that I won’t accept about you, because you’ve been rejected for it so many times in the past. But I’m not exactly conventional myself, in case you can’t tell. And I’m willing to build a life with you in whatever form that takes, as long as we always come home to one another.
Like me, I don’t think you grew up knowing God. I think you came to Him as a young adult, and He helped to change the direction of your whole life, just like He changed mine. I have a feeling your story is awesome, and I can’t wait to hear it. And I can’t wait to share mine with you, tattered and broken though it may be. I also think that you like music. Oh yeah, and I’m hoping you can dance. I have always dreamed of having a dance partner, someone who will wrap me up in his arms and sway with me or even just slide around on the floor looking silly together. Because what good is life if you can’t laugh and dance your way through the hard times?
Why do I know these things about you? I have no idea. I really don’t. God didn’t speak them to me in any audible way that I could discern, but nonetheless I think that somehow I do know them, maybe from somewhere deep in my soul. Is that crazy? I suppose only time will tell.
Please continue to be patient with me, Unicorn. I promise I will get things figured out, and I will find you. Or maybe you’ll find me. Or maybe we’ll find each other, somewhere out in this vast and lonely yet wonderful world that we share.