A Love Letter To Young Helen Mirren

Dear Young Helen Mirren,

I have to tell you, I don’t really go in for those “see how celebrities looked when they were younger” slideshows: what kind of a person is it who finds these photo collections meaningful, anyway? But this morning I was feeling foggy, willing to click on anything. That’s when I saw you—Helen Mirren, aged 25—and my heart tripped over itself. I knew at once from the look on your face that this was no accident. How else can it be said? We had a connection.  

Look, I know this is crazy, and happening really fast. I’m scared too. But it would be so wrong to deny the chemistry between us, so wrong I doubt I could live with myself if I did, so I won’t: Young Helen Mirren, we were meant to be together. I don’t care that we’re both already married, I don’t care that I’m usually not one for blondes, and I don’t care that you’re the photographic representation of a person who is now 43 years older and has no idea who I am in any case. Love isn’t always simple.  

Yes, Young Helen Mirren, I said it: Love. Come away with me to a little beachy paradise between Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands, and we’ll forget the rest of the world exists, just listen to the crash of blue waves and the cry of tropical birds and the mingled beat of our hearts as we roll and kiss in the sand. At night we’ll go into town and eat the best ceviche and dance like we’ll never have to stop. People will wonder at my profound luck, to have found you, and I will have to wonder myself.  

Yours forever in inconsistent chronology,  

Miles  

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