You’re gorgeous. You’re tall, you’re blond, and you haven’t got a single blemish on your skin. Unfortunately, you don’t seem to think that. You don’t realize that you’re strong and smart, if not independent. I get you (most of the time), and it’s like we’re sisters. Most of the time, we’re laughing, joking, sharing secrets, creating memories, and all that cheesy crap. But, I freakin’ love that stuff. I like being a dork with you, and I love it when we look at each other and know exactly what the other is thinking. I know you get down sometimes. You think that you’re not good enough. That you need someone else to complete you. It’s not true, you silly goose. When you find him, he’ll have to go through me. And he had better be perfect for you. I’m not going to let you settle for any less. I just want you to be happy. You’re at your best when you’re beaming, bursting with joyous energy. Sometimes, I feel like I know everything about you. That I know you, and who you really are. Other times, I feel like I know nothing. That you’re mysterious and withdrawn, a complete and utter enigma. I know you don’t think you’re good enough; pretty enough. Likeable enough. And that’s what drives me crazy. When you think of yourself so demeaningly. I love you. You’re precious to lots of people. Just try to remember that. That’s all I’m asking.