Jill,

There you are, in your yellow t-shirt. Your hair a mess, your smile genuine. Are those palm trees behind you? If they are, the wind that held your curls was surely warm, friendly, dainty like an expensive chocolate shop owner positioning his art. I think that's your hand, but it might not be, since I see no elbow. If it is, your fingers are longer than expected. That's ok, though. Long fingers are nice. Elegant. Crafty, in a good way.

Look closer, there's more. Some water or a blue wall behind you, a squint that betrays stale sun or a fear of the camera's flash. You, your face a little flush, your cheek bones naturally high and insulated by flesh - you know, that clump of muscle that builds up, flexed but squishy when you smile too long. Check that: when you hold your smile for a while. You could never smile too long. You've been smiling for weeks, that same enchanting smile - that inviting gesture of teeth, pink lips, a tease, a test - and I have not gotten bored. I have not lost interest. I still look. I still stare. I stare because you stare back. I feel so taken. It feels so strange.

I don't stare in obsession, though. Please don't think I do. I don't live in a dark and moldy lair, crawling under moonlight in a search for ignorance. I'm just a guy. Some guy. Any guy. Skinny, scraggly, moderately funny, hopefully intelligent. I'm your next-door neighbor, the guy behind you in class. I'm just normal, albeit a little lonely. I'm not stalking you. I'm doing just the opposite: I'm searching for you.

I wonder if you know you dropped this picture. I wonder if you dropped it yourself, or if it happened in passing. Is it a vacation captured on paper? A memento of home? A familiar place, a foreign fantasy, a brief stop on your way? It's a mystery to me. My clues are written on the back - "Jill, 2002, AFK" - although they say so little. A name, a date, something else. They are the three words that mean nothing, just a name to your face, a date I missed. People say pictures are worth 1000 words, but those three are distracting.

Here's what the 1000 words said: they said you are beautiful. They said you are kind. They said you have the kind of face it's hard to find, and impossible to forget. They said the person on the other side of that camera, the person that peered through a screen and pressed a button, saw something that needed to be preserved. Now, for whatever reason, through a thousand random events, through meaningless chances piled high, these colors and shapes on photograph paper have made their way into my hands, onto my refrigerator, hung with a little fuzzy magnet my sister gave me.

I need to find you. I need to meet you. You could be anywhere, I know, but somehow, at some time, you have had a connection here in this town. You, your friend, your family, your boyfriend, your girlfriend: someone walked along that sidewalk, someone dropped this picture, someone shared something they did not mean to. I feel like I've been let in on a secret. I feel like the secret isn't enough.

Maybe I just need to get out more. Maybe I'm pathetic. Maybe you'd hate me. I doubt it, though. Your face is too kind. I think your eyes, which are squinted but not strained, see only beauty. I think you'd like me. I'm a nice guy. I know it sounds silly, not terribly elegant or romantic, but I am.

I wish you could look back through that photograph, and see my own 1000 words. I've given you 674 of them here, but I know that's not enough. You're worth more. I hope you know that. You're worth much more. Many words, words I don't know, words I'll look up. I'll keep my eye out for you. I'll tell you them when I see you.

-Jack

dirty laundry