I write about love in some way every day. And I really don’t know what it is, because if I did, I would treat other people better, I would work a lot harder for myself and for them, and I wouldn’t whine just because I know absolutely no women in my area.
At some point, I need to learn to be found. The key to being found is that if I were found in the condition I am now, I would rightfully be thrown back, just as I was properly thrown back by others before. So there needs to be drastic improvement before I can be thrown away improperly by others.
The proof we’re not loving isn’t that a clod such as myself has been rejected. I’m arrogant enough to know that I don’t really care about that, ultimately. I’m more worried about those who have been there for me, and who treated me like gold when the weight of the world was concentrated in asserting my insignificance.
I hope they get some enjoyment out of this letter, advice given to a girl going to the prom, which I’m sure many of you have read before, and which I still consider the best thing I’ve ever written.