I know you.
At least, I think I know you.
I know you sit in the same spot every day, your brown hair glistening in the cheap subway lighting.
I know you like to read more than anything. Your bag is always stuck out at odd angles, indicating books lying within. Sometimes, I want to ask you what you're reading; want to know if we like the same things.
I know you like to day dream. Sometimes, you take a break from reading and stare at the passengers on the bus, even me, sometimes. Of course, I look away. I don't want to be creepy. Usually, I just take a sudden interest in the floor until I feel your eyes move away from me.
I know you listen to loud music, but it's not violent. It's not noise bombarding your ears with sudden urges to bleed, it's peaceful. You just like it loud.
I like it loud, too.
I know you are polite, giving up your seat when someone more worthy comes along. Like the little girl riding with her very pregnant mother. You even offered to hold the girl, which, not unexpectedly, resulted in the mother giving you quite the perplexed look before shaking her head, telling you that letting her sit was plenty. I couldn't help but notice the slightly disappointed look on your face. Which leads to my next conclusion.
I know you want something more out of life. You want to replace the love you've had before with stronger, newer love. And, frankly, I want that, too. I just wish you knew it. I wish I knew how to tell you.
I know you are completely and utterly unattainable to me. Not only are you out of my league, what with your amazing looks, but I'm seem to be the only person you are completely oblivious of.
So, I wrote this letter.
I am going to drop this in front of you, aiming for your adorable feet.
Hopefully, you'll read it.
I'll right something cute on the front.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I knew you.
You don't ride the train anymore.
You didn't get my letter.
I couldn't give it to you.
Please come back.
I thought I knew you.