The One With The Ducks.

Dear Lover.

I hope you're still here.
What I mean is.
I hope that last letter didn't scare you off.
I sort of plopped that first letter out on the table before you, didn't I?
Didn't see that one coming, did you?
Or.
Maybe you did.
And maybe you're still here.
Maybe you know that sometimes I spontaneously do things like that.
Of course you do. You most certainly do.
Or else I wouldn't be showing you these letters in the first place, now would I?
But. In case you still need an explanation.
In case you're very responsible and like to have your ducks in a row.
Yes, in case you're one of those men who want it all layed out on the table before you...
(Is is "layed"? Or, "lay"? I can't decide. I never can. But, of course, you know that about me, don't you? How I'm constantly second guessing my grammar use because the voice inside my head is decidely British, which is decidedly the opposite of my given accent, which clearly messes with one's head -- rather like a game of grammar ping pong.  With ping pong balls of proper-isms like "alas's" along with expressions such as "quite nice" and "rather lovely" matched up against colloquialisms such as "y'all" and "I know right" and "that's what she said," how can a girl ever find the time to speak?)
Apparently, I find a way.
But I digress.
So here is my explanation.
On why I've started scribbling and bundling up these letters to you.
Ready?
I am madly in love with you.
The huzzah sort of love.
Even though I haven't met you yet.
But, I can still feel it.
And although part of me says to wait you out and share my rambling thoughts with you once you arrive.
The other part of me is rather fond of ducks.
And so.
Here are a few things I'd like you to know...

Love,
Me.