The stuff Baby sent me came in the mail today. The box, and three letters. All of these things went under my mom’s eyes before they were placed before mine. She kept the package—hid it in her room, in the third drawer I believe. And the letters, she eagerly ripped them apart. She was standing next to me, I was sitting at my desk in front of my computer. I dared not act too eager to see them, so I tried my best to keep a stoic face as she tore open the envelopes. When I couldn’t suppress my anticipation any longer, I casually turned my head around to glance at the letter in her hand. My first thought was—“Wow Baby has lovely handwriting!” Each letter is so beautiful, so perfect, and flowed with love out of Baby’s heart. While my mother perused each letter, she kept on asking me “Who is this person? Who sent you so many letters?” And each time, I supplied a perfunctory, ambiguous reply. After she read the letters, she gave them to me, still puzzled over who had sent the letters, what their relation was to me, and why they had sent the letters. All I can say is, I’m so glad that she let me keep the letters. I will treasure them for the rest of my life.

When my mother finally gave me the letters and the envelopes, I saw that she had torn a little bit of the envelope in a rush to open it, and I felt a little spark of anger—its almost as if she disrespected the letter by tearing into it so hurriedly. Sure, its just an envelope, but if I had been the one to open it, I’d have been so careful to preserve the envelopes—open them without tearing a bit.

What I immediately noticed about the letters was how each page was so perfectly folded, each page without a wrinkle. Everything was so neat, there were barely any places where he had crossed out a word.

Before I read the letters, I found the date of each letter, and placed them in order—I wanted to read them, from the very first letter he wrote, to the last one. The first lines of his first letter brought a huge smile on my face; I love Baby’s sense of humor. My heart eagerly devoured each delicious word on the page, I never thought reading something could make me this happy. I knew that Baby was a wonderful writer, he had a way with words, but each time I read something from him, it never fails to amaze me. How did he know to end the letter like that? How did he know that the slow dance was the most romantic thing? How did he know that was one of my favorite quotes by him? I will never forget those words. There they are, printed on the page by his loving hand, and forever engraved in my heart. I had written the quote down when he first said them, and I have read them over and over again at least a hundred times. It’s written in my planner twice. I wonder how Baby still remembered the exact words he had said…. Baby, I love you too. I want to slow dance with you, I’ll put my life, my heart, all of me, in your hands, and we’ll savor every second of this. I never want this to end.

The second letter, dated February 18^th. I wonder what time he had written this. Perhaps in the afternoon, maybe in the evening. He said that I sing beautifully, although I had stumbled over the lyrics. Somehow he makes me feel like I can do anything and everything wonderfully. Baby makes me so happy, so blissfully happy. And that was the day my sister came in while I was talking to him, my sister was first introduced to him—and my sister loves him. There’s never a day when my sister doesn’t say “Call Ever! Call Ever!”, whenever me and her are alone. She’s kept the secret pretty well. I told her, “one day Ever’s gonna come, and he’ll be your big brother”. Baby, she’s as excited as I am to hang out with you. And he ended the first page with saying, he only cares about what I think. Other people’s opinions don’t matter when it comes to our relationship. Baby I couldn’t have put it better myself. No one else will understand, no one else can feel this bond between us, no one else can experience the love we’re experiencing. What other people say won’t make a difference. It’s nice to have outside support, but honestly, our love is strong enough to perpetuate itself. And then he shares with me all the details about him, and the words on the page transformed into a 3-D version of him, and I’m able to take a peek into his life, day to day. How he likes to shampoo his hair twice because it smells so good…I can’t help but imagine being in the shower with him….

And the last letter. This letter really really touched me. As I read each word, the letters were blurred by the tears that flooded my eyes. “And if there’s ever a time we run out of songs, I’ll write you a new one. I’d sing you thousands of songs as long as you’d listen, as long as you’d dance with me, as long as I’m in your heart…Baby, I’m working on the forever part…I’m making a promise to you…I will see you one day, and I’m going to make you a part of my world…”Baby has given promises a whole new meaning. Promises aren’t broken, promises won’t be broken. A promise is unbreakable. With his words, Baby has reassured me, chased the ghosts of doubts from my heart—filling my heart with pure, untainted love. No matter what happens, I’ll get to see him. I’ll wait for him, he’s worth it.

Not only did his words make me smile—they made my heart smile. A genuine, sincere smile of true happiness. And the most heavenly scent rose from the letter to caress my face, imbue my senses. It reminds me of one of the lines in the Jesse McCartney song “How Do You Sleep”. I recognize the scent from earlier—that’s the same scent as his tie. That’s what I imagine heaven to smell like. The scent turned me on physically, while the sweet words on the page turned my heart and soul on. Baby is so amazing. I love him emotionally, spiritually, mentally, physically. In every way.