letters: penguin.

dear you
I do not fully know you but I have read enough of your thoughts to fully crumble.
and it has become a rather effective habbit of mine to write unsent letters to those who effect me greatly.
so here`s to you.
I realize I am 17 years old, on the very verge of life, and I havent experienced enough to be in the league of your greatness, I realize that English is my second language and I have only really dived into it in the last two years.
I realize I have been writing for two years and haven't really read a great amount of books.
but these are just excuses I could draw for my self.
I look at you and I wish you knew of my existence I wish I could faintly empress you, while you grandly empress me, and I do find it foolish all this anticipation and all this jealousy, but some times it, if you`d pardon the old expression, sneaks up on me; the fact that there are people out there far more advanced than I am that could single handedly build and analyse nations within books, who could grasp the very fragility and mystery of human nature.
and I sit here thinking I have done something.
self loathing, I have found, is only pretty when you, dont really mean it.  but I do this time and I cannot blow it out of proportion, I cannot paint it around and shape it well so you`d think I am a sort of artist.
all this business of what is likable and what isnt is on some levels disgusting.
but peer pressure pulls me down, and most sadly when they aren even my peers, more like:my look-up-to.
my point here, miss or mister: is that your the kind of person who`s taste I fully trust you could crush my very universe with your words, and so, I thought I would like to let it all out.