Dear Boy,

WARNING: This blog contains embarrassing material. If you suffer from reading syndrome, please see your doctor before reading, this may be long. Also, there is a 99.9% chance that I might regret writing this. Thank you. Yours sincerely, Martha Lee Anne.

Dear Boy,
You’re probably going to laugh at this, or think it is completely ridiculous: I lack the much needed wit and humor to keep it light and upbeat so that you won’t drift to sleep by images of princes and white horses, but just try to stay awake for the time being (I don’t know how quick of a reader you are, so for all I know, this could take you awhile). I’m not sure really how to go about explaining myself, so I’m just going to dive straight into the deep in.
I’m waiting for you. That’s right, waiting for you. And I don’t mean in the back seat with an ax or all stalker-ish like in your front yard, I mean simply that I’m waiting for you to be my hero. If the “H” word threw you off, I’m glad I got your attention.
“What does that mean, hero?” you might be thinking. It means exactly what you think it means. Maybe you think of superman, or batman, or spidey man, but ultimately you just thought of some guy with big muscles, a good jaw line, and a cape, and you may look in the mirror and see an inadequate, clumsy, and not so muscular guy, but to me, you look better than superman, because you’re real.
I’m here to remind you that you’re my knight in shining armor, and if not mine, then someone else’s. You stopped believing in super heroes and princes when you were a kid, but God didn’t make me like you, so I still believe in those things. When I wake up, and go to bed, and walk to class in the morning, I think of you.
I hope that you’ll find me and pursue me. I hope that you’ll guard my heart. I know that you may smoke, and drink, and occasionally cuss; I know you tend to be messy and enjoy several hours of halo, but I hope that you’ll save a little room in your heart for me. Because God didn’t make me like you. He didn’t make me as brave or strong. He made me soft and gentle. He gave me a desire to nurture, and a heart to be loved.
You can laugh all you want at my stupid girly dreams, but that won’t make them go away. And it isn’t just me, we’re all like this. We may not all admit to it, but we are all hoping you’ll rescue us, and it doesn’t matter that we keep getting older and older because the desire to be pursued won’t go away. And it doesn’t matter that you are only human, because we’re only human too.
I can imagine you thinking, “I can’t do it, I’m not really brave,” and even when you stutter, and mumble your words, I’m still positive you’re a knight, and you’ve just forgotten. I think your quirks, and failures, and mistakes are beautiful, and I don’t mind them because they compliment mine. You tell me you’re too weak, but so am I. You tell me you’re nervous, but so am I.
I thought you needed to know this because sometimes I think I’m waiting for you, but you’ve forgotten about me. You’ve forgotten that I’m breakable, that my heart isn’t made of stone but glass; you’ve forgotten that your harsh words have made me cry; you’ve forgotten that your kiss could make me melt, so you melted me, and left; you’ve forgotten that you were supposed to be my knight. You’ve forgotten, but I haven’t, and I won’t.

With all my heart,
Girl