Dear Wigleaf,

My first love letter was a Valentine to my third-grade crush. I used my most special sticker—a puffy, plastic heart filled with pink glitter—and shoved it in his cubby. I told him I liked how fast he could run and that I wanted him to be my husband. It was anonymous, of course—I didn't want him to know it was me. This raised the obvious question of how he would marry me, but logic wasn't (and still isn't) very important to me. Even at that age, I knew that there was something beautiful about putting a desire out there in the world and expecting nothing in return.

I recently Googled my former crush and found his college athletics stats page. He's not my type, all 6' 1" frat boy and thick neck. It's hard to imagine ever having saved my best sticker for him, but I suppose I still carry that little-girl version of myself when I fall asleep next to my wife each night.

Love (until they institutionalize me and all my love letters become evidence of mania),

Sarah