I’m sorry if this sudden confession disturbs the peace of mind I last saw you in. I don’t usually do this kind of thing – writing to complete strangers, who have only seen from afar. The whole ‘secret admirer’ thing seemed cute at first, but in these times, letters like these can raise the alarm for a suspected stalker or serial killer. For the record, I am neither of those. But I just had to tell you of the impression you left on me.
When you sat three pews ahead of me in church, I only got a quick glimpse at your features when you sat down. Most of your face was facing forward, attention being paid towards the pastor, but what little I made out pleased me. I could not help myself, and every few minutes, stole a glance at you again, hoping you might turn your face more so I could be sure you were as beautiful as I suspected. While I waited for that moment, I scoped out the rest of you – your freshly cut hair, the casual plaid shirt, and the soft, light brown of your skin. Everything pleased my eyes, and I wished harder that your face would be just as appealing.
Finally the moment came when you glanced over your shoulder and I saw that handsome face. The angularity of your eyes, the straightness of the bridge of your nose, the sharpness of the cupid’s bow in your lip – you were such an exotic spectacle in the small suburban church sanctuary. Most of all, your smile was infectious, and dragged me to watch you more throughout service, wondering if you would laugh at what I laughed at, cringed and what I cringed, and reflect of what I reflected.
My handsome stranger, you seem so lovely from afar, and I just wanted to thank you for that wonderful Sunday I got to observe your splendor. Perhaps this Sunday I shall learn your name.
All the best,
This quiet church girl.