Friend (will you ever become -- we will wait to see), Philosopher (universal) and Guide (personal, professional),
Defying sober approaches to formal writing, or even informal ones, here I am, professing a different kind of love for you, one which does not wait to attach itself to your being, which grows on its own, sometimes out of respect and reverence, and even out of the (not so) tiny amount of fear associated with your persona.
I would have liked to encroach upon the sacred thread that binds a teacher and a student, but your dominance over petty philosophers Aristotle and Plato warns me not to. Instead, I will do what I do best -- try and let the spirit of spontaneity possess me.
Ma'am, I do not wish to live as lovers, nor share a special space of intimate intentions, the question or proposition of demanding personal time nor attention does not even arise. Yet, I feel special, very special -- almost as if I have wings to colour the sky -- when you pass me a casual smile, or begin an interaction on your own. This is more than infatuation, more than platonic -- a love that debunks all myths of categories. I feel empowered.
As for me, there must be thousands more like me, even more, and I may just end up being your 'last chosen one', yet I choose to live the 'chosen' than the 'last'. Once again, I am content, very easily. Remembrances of moments that make decisions worthwhile, that is you. No teacher, ever, has gotten a love-letter from me. In fact, I do not have a list of teachers I can say, the thought of who, inspire me. Yet, here you are, my 'first chosen one' for a teacher-student love-letter. Gosh, I am blushing and getting goosebumps, all at the same time. It is electricity, invisibly tangent.
Of dinners that we will never share, I have my imagination. They are quite tasteful.
Warmest regards,
You-Know-Me.
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