Dear Cute Boy Who Works at the Bookstore,
I do not know your name; you don't know mine. I didn't initiate a trading of such important information when we met. Why? I don't know. I should have, would have, were it not for you being something close to my dream guy.
You're not handsome in a traditional sense. You have red hair to begin with, you wear nerdy glasses, and you're a touch on the skinny side.
(For the sake of this letter, and its intended purpose, we will pretend two of the three aren't perfect in my eyes.) You probably know very little about that game that was played on that night with the ball and those people. However, I would venture a guess that you know a little something about Shakespeare and maybe you've read The Princess Bride. You have green eyes, which would have been enough to do me in no matter where we were, but we were in a book store and you were ringing me up.
It took a while to checkout.
I wish I had just happened to wander in, chosen a singular title and had the chance to carry on a quick, decent three question conversation.
I spoke so nonsensically I had to give myself a verbal lashing afterwards. Honestly I'm still berating myself. Yes, I see the irony in that. I don't even know what I talked about, but you laughed a couple of times. I am assuming this was at me and not with me as I am 100% certain that what I said wasn't funny, though completely amusing. On the off chance you were having a similarly smitten moment, therefor laughing at my "jokes" to impress me, I seriously question your taste in bookish girls. Usually I'm charming, witty, slightly flirty and I always, always have something to say about the written word. Except when I'm around you.
If a girl comes up to you carrying Browning, and Rilke and Plath, and Dickinson and Love in the Time of Cholera then it is safe to assume that this girl has a very clear grasp on the English language and if she just can't pull it off then she is either an impostor, or falling for you. You, with your black-rimmed glasses and your hands that hold the books all day.
Now, the chances of you reading this are slim to none, and even if you did read it, well, would you know it was you?
So I guess this goes out to all the guys who work in bookstores and handle books all day long.
You are so sexy to us girls who want nothing more than to spend hours walking the rows, waiting for that hidden gem to make itself known and speak to us like we want to speak to you.
Moral of the story, oh Cute Boys in Bookstores world-wide, is that we may read about Edward Cullen...
but we want you to be a part of our own stories.
The Girl with the Books and the Tied Tongue