Before I say anything more, congratulations! You've discovered the final (or is it?) special, secret segment of your superior Christmas gift. You've also found my letter to you, which (I know what I did) owing to our finals I had to create an entire website to send to you, but I know we're both enjoying that extravagance. Finding this message required a moderate amount of sleuthing, but I knew you were up to the task. Similarly, I still firmly believe that Christmas gifts are not a competition, but I wanted to do something bold and beautiful for you, because all I'll ever want is to give you my very best, whenever I can.
By all means, this semester has been arduous and fun and complicated and entertaining and sleep-depriving and prolific (at least in Russian History) and most importantly, magnificently unexpected. If you had asked me what I wanted for the semester when I moved back to campus in August, all I would've mentioned is that I was hoping to maybe try the acting thing, and have a good time with the friend group while I did it. But you couldn't have asked me that week in August, because you didn't meet me until the next one, and we didn't know each other until a few weeks later. In any case, my predictions were right, because I'm still at least a little self-confident, but this semester was simply so much more than anything I could've asked for. That group became a supportive little family that I will always appreciate, even if we do spend most of our time talking about Gabe. And my acting professor told me that my dog eulogy was the best performance in class "BY. FAR." And I got an A in every class. And I kept working at the Snite while also starting another job in the FTT office. And most importantly, I met you.
When I look back on so many of the moments which made this semester for me, you have a lovely little way of being a pretty significant part of each of them. There's opening night for This is Modern Art, when there was no one I wanted to see more at curtain. Or the time just a few days later when You walked ALL THE WAY FROM LEWIS TO DPAC before the Glormal (I will never ask you to do that again it was a lot I'm so sorry I didn't realize). And the same night, sitting with you at the piano above the entire dance in Jordan. That first night when we really got to know each other, sitting in the theater in Riley and you told me your story about stealing a golf cart and I showed you the podcast. And also that night we shared at Café Navarre when TY thought we were forty-year-old parents and you stabbed me after. The time you pulled me from our Russian papers in a thunderstorm, simply to go out in the rain. Saying goodbye in front of Lewis a week and a bit ago, knowing that you meant the world to me.
And then there's everything we've got ahead of us, because we've got all the time in the world (or until I encounter an eighteen-wheeler).
Victoria, as I write this letter, I've realized something, and it's something I want to share with you. Whenever I'm with you, or you send me a cute little message, or I just know I'm with you in a general sense beyond physical proximity, I feel accepted, whole and entire. That may not sound like a big deal in your experience, but I'm being in no way hyperbolic when I say that this is a new experience for me. I know I've got a whole support system of people who care about me, but I think that that is something different. Even in spite of my appreciation for modern art, you're willing to accept all of me, and I'm always going to be grateful for that, in a way that I don't fully know how to express so I made a joke at the beginning of this sentence. As a result, I just want you to know this: you'll never have to pretend to be indecisive, or hide your hatred of sponges or anything with me, because I'm always going to accept you too. You've got me.
I'm realizing now that this letter has very little to do with Christmas, other than the fact that it's a way for me to show my appreciation for all that you've given me, while giving you a little something to express my affection. Which brings me to the secret, non-physical gift I've made for you. Enclosed at the bottom of this page is a link to a Spotify playlist, with twenty-four songs that I absolutely adore (well, one of them is entirely a joke about me having coffee at 4 PM). Each song was selected with purpose, and I'd be happy to talk to you about my reasoning there, but for now (this letter is already quite long), two notes about the ones at the end. First, I don't really like John Denver, "Rocky Mountain High" was just playing the night your Medieval Philosophy paper wasn't due and we looked out your window and we came full circle. And second, I discovered "Northern Sky" literally the first time I walked with you after Russian and I always think of you when I listen to it and it means a whole lot to me, much like you.
Thank you. I'll be brief in my letter next Christmas (I almost definitely won't, I just wanted a cute way to say that this is the beginning of something perfect and indescribably grand and you're my favorite and I find you just absolutely gorgeous too and we're just marvelous together).
Love,
Your Henry
P.S.: I wrote this letter initially on my very best stationary, and I would be more than happy to provide you that manuscript if it would suit at our earliest convenience, for purposes of non-electronic safe-keeping.