To My Huckleberry Friend, It's middle of the night, I'm debating on whether I should make myself a cup of black coffee or just let the insomnia speak for itself. Frank Sinatra playing on my laptop. "I'm A Fool To Want You" and exactly what I feel like right now. Foolish because I'm uncertain if you even exist. I'm not sure which is scarier, the thought of you existing yet never getting to meet you or you not existing at all. Perhaps both. God, I sound like a lovesick teenager. Which is quite ironic being an aromantic. I finished reading The Brothers Karamazov the other day, I was wondering if you have read it too. Perhaps you even carry a better cover than mine. It is getting quite weird to watch Roman Holiday all alone every other weekend. I wonder if you like vintage films as well. I'm quite fond of Gary Cooper. My favorite is "Now and Forever", I know no one asked. I'm also very fond of an ridiculously foolish early 2000s movie pair, Jenna Rink & Matt Flamhaff. Furthermore, I was recently reading a book on cellular & molecular neuroscience, it's a fascinating read. I hope to read with you somebody over coffee. It is foolish to want something that I'm uncertain of, I yearn, pray for someone who I'm not sure or aware of. Someone who I can share the quiet with. Who's patient enough to deal with my ridiculous ramblings. Maybe I'm indeed insane. Yet despite all these thoughts of not seeing you, a tiny part still wishes that you exist and to meet you. To fume over you for making me suffer. I feel stupid enough to publish this because I want to yell out my feelings, I'm unable to. Yours, Rosie