Test: Letter for Lillian

My friend wanted me to write this for one of her stories. She says she needs a good confession letter, but she can't write it and she can't get it into character, so she wanted me to help her out by writing my own version.
So here goes.

Dear (Can't Type Name Because I Don't Have Permission Yet),
Hey! Just dropping by to say hello, how are you doing, can't wait to see you, all of that.

Um. I guess this is going to be sufficiently awkward, but that's okay. Awkwardness is pretty much an essential when it comes to me e-mailing people I probably really have no right to e-mail, because it's random and I've never really bothered to keep in touch with you before and there really isn't a good reason for me to do it now, other than to say hello and ask what's up, and make you uncomfortable and weirded-out by a random kid who is bored out of her mind.

Well!

The house is a bit empty, it's just me and Camper (you know him as Jimmy, I call him Camper because of Metal of Honor. Long story)hanging out and eating Poptarts (do they have Poptarts in Ireland? If they don't, curse Ireland, come to America and eat some Poptarts with me and Camper and we'll have a party).

Although, I'm sure you really don't care much about whether or not I'm eating Poptarts, now that I think about it, so forget I mentioned it. You've always been busy, even as long as I've known you (okay, maybe not, because that would be since birth, and how old were you when that happened, maybe around ten? Wow, you're nearly a decade older than me. Not that that's very old. Pretty young, actually. But older than me. I'm a little confused here, help me out. The last time I checked, you were 23. Okay, I didn't actually check, I just know. I'm 14, by the way, so know you can roll your eyes and curse yourself for wasting your time because you've read this far only to find out that I'm loopy, I can't string a single sentence together, I eat Poptarts, and I'm underage anyway, so why bother?)

Ahem! I'm the queen of beating around the bush, as you can see. You probably can guess what's coming, but I want you to keep reading anyway, because I've been stalling to get this out of my system for quite a while now. Gasp, oh no! You must be thinking, Not another stupid drooly teenage girl who has nothing better to do than to waste her time having delusions about me!

Well, sorry, but you're right. Bingo!

Okay, let me just get this straight out while I'm on a roll. This must have happened to you at least thirty times by now, and if it hasn't, then I'm sorry that I have to be the first one to do it and annoy, confuse and derange you.

I think you're really cool.
No, no, that doesn't do it justice.

I think you're amazing!

Well, why wouldn't I? You're only a talented, good-looking, slightly older guy with really nice hair. I also think that you're going places, that you have enormous potential as a really interesting human being, and also I hope that you make it far in the world. (I know, it's like a disease you must have, stupid drooly fan girls.)

Now, don't expect me to get all rabid and jump up and down and start squealing. I detest this sort of behavior. Nope, I'm the creepier type, the kind that just sort of sits there and tries not to get noticed... Watching you from the shadows... don't speak until spoken to... spill my latte all over myself from anxiety when nobody's looking...

You know. The ugly wallflower with a gutteral lisp.

Aren't you lucky?!

Great to have spoken with you, and to have taken up your day. You really don't have to reply to this, you can just delete it in shame and pretend I don't exist, that's perfectly okay. I mean, I'd probably do the same thing if an eight-year old boy sent me a gushy, pathetic and overly-eager confession e-mail.

See you around!