Dear J,

You're probably wondering how this letter ended up in your mailbox. This is a time, after all, when mailboxes themselves are becoming obsolete. I know mine gathers more dust than envelopes these days. So who could be writing to you? I'm nobody special. You probably don't even remember me, and that's okay. It has been some time, and I'm not the kind of guy who leaves an impression. The point is that we have crossed paths before. I am not a total stranger. In fact, I remember you quite clearly. 

You had green eyes and you liked bubblegum ice cream–that gross, baby blue kind with pieces of pink gum that our parents couldn't buy for us without making a show of their disapproval. I also remember that you collected seashells. You had pretty ones from faraway tropical places, some big enough that you could hear the ocean when you put your ear to the mouth. What else can I tell you? The girl I remember was cheeky and ambitious. She said she dreamed of becoming an artist, but in my mind, she already was one.

Anyways, I suddenly felt the need to know how you were doing. Call me weird, but I also felt like you might need to receive a letter like this one at this moment in your life: a distant but genuine concern for your well-being, and an invitation to talk, in a manner, with someone uninvolved and non-judgmental. Maybe I'm wrong, but I'd at least be interested in knowing what became of that girl I knew.

If somehow, I've got the wrong person, I am terribly sorry to have bothered you with this letter. Please ignore it, or if you would be so kind, let me know that I was mistaken, so that I can search elsewhere for the person I thought I was contacting. Likewise, if it is you, but you think this letter is creepy, I am sorry to have unsettled you. You can throw it away and forget it. I won't be offended–I promise, and I certainly won't bother you again. Otherwise, I hope to hear from you.

Yours truly,

Someone from your past