It sounds so strange to start this letter to you so formally, but today I am finding myself lacking in hope. It is hard to hold out hope that you will find me or that I will find you when I do not know your name nor do I even have a for sure idea of what you might look like. I am writing you this letter in the hopes that someday in the future (or maybe even today) you will stumble across this and know that even before I had proof, I was doing all I could to hold onto the hope that you existed.
All I have of you is dreams. They're not as frequent as I'd like nor do I remember as much of them as I would wish, but I know it's you. I can't help but wonder if I would completely abandon my hope that you exist if it wasn't for these dreams. They're such strange dreams. Sometimes you look familiar or famous, but no matter what else occurs, I know it's you because your kindness and warmth is always there. It's always you.
Do you know that I am here waiting? Do you know that I search the faces of everyone I meet looking for you? Do you know that sometimes I just want to scream because of the aching hole in my heart that is waiting for the missing piece that only you carry?
Last night God and I had another of our long talks. It is the same set of questions and the same set of hopes and fears that I have presented to him every couple months since I was probably around 15: Am I imagining you?
But you must be real. If you weren't real, why would God have given me these dreams? I've had them for years now. Why would he put this passion and hope in my heart if it weren't for the purpose of loving and caring for someone else? For putting someone else's needs above my own? I don't think he would. God is not cruel. He gives people dreams and passions so that they can use them for him. Believing that gives me the hope and strength I need to wait for you.
Come find me. Soon.
I love you,