Dear Autumn Knutson,

The season for love is right around the corner and I thought this could be my big chance to tell you how I feel about you. So without further ado, Autumn, if I ever talked to you I would say: “You are the chicken of my chimichanga. You are my cherries and red wine, flowers and sunshine. If I could paint you a rainbow, I would only use your favorite colors: purple, baby yellow and orange. I would use that pick-up line I’ve been practicing in my head, “Autumn, I’m falling for you” (get it?). But alas, my sweet Persephone, I know that you will disappear as winter approaches, and the world grows cold without your warm presence and smile. I will patiently hold onto your love and memory until the day when you come back to me with your gentle, beckoning breezes and your precious pomegranates. We can dance together in the light of day, and even though I would prefer to dance in the refuge of the darkness at night because I pale in comparison to your dancing, I shall put that aside, just as I put aside doing my homework to write this for you. I would say, “I wish I could take your clothes off so I could see how angels hide their wings.” And although I love your eyes, I love mine more, for without mine I couldn’t see yours. My friends are annoyed with me because I keep borrowing their hearts since you stole mine, but I would take you over them any day. If I were a stoplight, Autumn, I’d turn red every time you passed by, just so I could stare at you a bit longer. Me without you is like a nerd without braces, a shoe without laces and asentencewithoutspaces. If I got a nickel for every girl I saw that was as pretty as you, I’d be broke. But I’m not broke, Autumn, I’ve been working three part-time jobs all year, so that I can buy you that Valentine’s present (it’s a surprise). Writing this I realize that there is little point since words fall far short of you, my dear, so I will end it here.

With love,

Your future husband

P.S. If there is one thing about you that I am disappointed in, it’s that your number isn’t in my cell phone yet.