This letter was never sent, and never could have been sent. The General Disclaimer is incorporated herein by reference.

Dear Nicole,

I hope your mommy lets me give this letter to you, or at the least reads it first and gives it to you, instead of throwing it away or taking it to the police. Some girls' mommies would do that. In fact, I don't have much hope that your mommy will let you read this, because I don't know of any who would. Every mommy I've ever met has been first in line to stop any girl from ever talking to anyone like me. But I'll write it anyway, and try to take it to you, just in case a miracle happens. I guess if a miracle does happen, and you get to read my letter, it must mean you don't exist, because such a thing will never happen, could never happen, if you're real.

I'm writing to you because I found a picture of you. It's an old picture and must have been taken with an old camera, but even so, I can tell how very beautiful you are. In the picture, you're looking straight at me. Is it okay if I think that you're looking at me, even though you were really just looking at the camera? I hope that's okay. You have such lovely sky-blue eyes in the picture. I wish I could see them for myself, since the picture can't show your eyes darting around, curious, sparkling, exploring the world in delight and wonder, as all girls do at your age.

Next in the photo, I see your smile. Not beaming brightly, like you would on picking up a cute kitten, and not smiling in astonishment like you just opened a giant chocolate kitten as tall as you are. Nor are you smiling mischieviously, like you're planning some amusing trick to play on someone you love, and you're not smiling contentedly as you would when snuggled up in a soft blanket in your bed at the end of a day spent with that someone, who also loves you. No, in the picture, you're just quietly smiling, like in that famous painting, Mona Lisa. Only far, far, far more beautifully, at least to my eyes.

It makes me wonder what you're thinking, what caused you to smile that way. I will probably never know. As old as the picture is, you probably don't remember either, since thoughts and experiences are so fleeting to a girl at your age. Perhaps you were pleased that I (and I still plead to be allowed to imagine that you're looking at me) enjoyed being with you. Perhaps you were comfortable and trusting, a trust solidly based, sensing my respect for you, sensing my caring for your well-being, and thereby knowing that you could rely on me. Perhaps your mysterious smile shows your own respect and caring for me. I can imagine, and hope, so I do.

Braids adorn your face on either side, framing you like the border to a bed of flowers. I long to slowly reach out and gently lift a braid out of the way, caressing your cheek with my hand as I lean forward. If you showed the slightest indication of wanting me to stop, of course I would, and I would lower your braid back and retreat, not content by any means, but accepting of your desires.

I would hope, rather, that you would also lean toward me, and allow me to place a gentle kiss, first on the cheek that the braid had recently held claim over, then another higher, then another (please pardon my beard in your eyes as I kiss your forehead), then another, until I need to move the other braid to liberate your other cheek. And a final kiss on that smile, perhaps in an attempt to taste, if such a thing be possible, the reason behind it.

Would I be so lucky as to have you raise your arms to me, to have you hug me around my neck? Then, joyously, I, too, could wrap my arms, and hold you, and continue that final kiss until we were contented to relax.

I would slide my hands along your arms, and you yours along mine, until our hands met and grasped and held fast, a connection inseparable in the moment, then gone, yet paradoxically still inseparable.

Nicole, I know what will happen when I try to send this, and yet something in me cries out for hope that there may be one reasonable mommy in the world.