Let us begin this letter, this prelude to an encounter, formally, as a declaration,
in the old-fashioned way: I love you.
You do not know me (although you have seen me, smiled at me).
I know you (although not so well as I would like.
I want to be there when your eyes flutter open in the morning, and you see me, and you smile. Surely this would be paradise enough?).
So I do declare myself to you now, with pen set to paper. I declare it again:
I love you.
… Neil Gaiman