Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply. I do not own the characters or original plot.

Author's Note: I never really intended to continue this one, but I just wrote this up and felt like it didn't have enough to stand on its own. I know a letter is not original, but I don't care. I'm feeling a little down and writing sad and hopeless stories happens sometimes. Not that it makes me feel any better. Did I mention this was going to be sad? No death, I promise. (And maybe, if I'm happier next month, I will write another.) Here's to living on hope… reviews always appreciated :)

To:

Miranda Priestly
c/o Runway Magazine
4 Times Square
New York, NY 10036

9/19/2011

Dear Miranda,

I wrote to you three weeks ago and you didn't respond. But you already know that. I didn't expect you to respond—not really—although I did spend a solid week checking and rechecking my email so that if you did respond I wouldn't miss it.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of you. And I mean that. You are quite literally always on my mind, and I can't say that about anyone or anything before you.

Most of the time, there's this voice screaming at me to just forget about you already and move on. But that mentality never lasts more than a few days. No one compares to you, and I just end up really pissed off and annoyed at the world. All of these people who aren't as smart, witty, generous, and enjoyable to be around as you are—as you were.

But then again, is that really what you were like? It's been so damn long I have trouble remembering. And of purse, at one point, I thought it was a good idea to delete every email you and I ever exchanged, so i don't even have that to look back on.

December 4 2008 was the last time you spoke to me. After the day you lost your job, we started seeing each other for coffee and such, but nothing like that first day. Several months later, you pushed me away and said you couldn't do it. That it wasn't me, it was you. That I would understand someday. But your eyes said something different.

I thought I could never face you again, but that night in December I somehow found myself at your door. I have no idea where I found the courage to do that, but it felt so right. You were so genuine and warm that evening—I couldn't even respond. I had expected you to push me away like that day a few months prior when we met for coffee. But you surpassed my expectations and I was speechless. That rarely happens.

Then, of course, there was that day when you were sitting behind me at Nigel's mother's service. That was one year ago, September 2012. I froze. My heart couldn't handle the proximity. Everything flew out the window. Did you recognize me? Were you ignoring me? Were you planning to say something to me afterwards if I hadn't run out? Would you act as if nothing happened? I couldn't help it. I ran. I needed to clear my head to make a plan. To strategize.

But more than anything in the world I wanted to see you again. I wanted to know that I was different, that I still affected you even just a little bit. I wanted to feel your arms around me, supporting, understanding, caring.

Do you still think of me? What do you do when you receive an email from me? And afterwards? Do you cry? I do. I try to be strong, to not let my emotions control me, but I feel like the motions I go through everyday, these motions I've gone through every day for the past five years—they're just that: motions. None of it matters if I can't have you.

So the question remains (although perhaps unasked)—will you have me?

There was a time in my life when self-confidence was bordering on arrogance. When I felt like anything or anyone was within my reach. That is no longer the case. I am constantly doubting myself. It took a while, but now I really "get" that thing called failure. I suppose for someone who's always been good at everything, failure is inevitable. And I'm not saying failure is a bad thing. It's always a learning experience, especially when it truly changes your life.

I no longer feel worthy. Sure, I have people who have tried to convince me otherwise, but they're not the people I so desperately want to hear it from. My family will always think I'm great, and I suppose I should be more grateful for that than I am. My push-over of a manager at the paper I work for thinks I'm the best employee he's ever had. My ex-boyfriend would tell me everything I wanted to hear when I was laying next to him naked.

None of it matters. None of it takes away the sleepless nights, the lonely dinners, the emptiness.

I never saw myself as seeking your approval, but looking back, I did when I first started. Then, something changed. You looked at me differently. I felt that you were truly proud of me, just the way I was. I could relax and be myself. It was such an empowering feeling, but far too brief. You thought I was two-faced when I relaxed around you.

At some point, days turned into years of asking myself why it all mattered. Why I was trying so hard to impress you. I wanted you to like something about me. For my own sanity, I needed to know that I wasn't imagining the relationship we had for about eight months. I still need to know.

Would things have been different if I would have clearly told you how much I wanted to kiss you? To fuck you on your staircase? Would it have been different if I wasn't always so circumspect those late evenings at your house?

Were you afraid that you were misinterpreting the signals? Did you think that when I said that I loved you, I meant some other kind of love? Was I supposed to think that you signing emails "Love & kisses, Mira xx" meant nothing? That calling me "sweetheart" and "darling" and "My Andrea" was just some joke? What did you mean when you said "I love you" anyway?

I could drive myself crazy with all of the guessing…and honestly, I have been going crazy these past five years without you. I mean, what am I even doing with my life? It all means nothing to me. I'm holding onto this fantasy of a relationship that never really was. But it almost was, wasn't it? I hesitated there, and I think you would too. It's that hesitation that gives me hope—hope that it could be. You once said you lived on hope, well, I live on it now.

Did you know that whenever I have a near-death experience (usually hitting turbulence on a flight), you're the only thought in my mind? I think about never knowing why you pushed me away, about never having the chance to tell you 'I love you' one last time, about never feeling your arms around me ever again.

What if you never know? What if I never have another opportunity to tell you? Of course I'm never going to mail this letter, and I doubt it would go over well if I told my parents to give this to you if something ever happened to me. If I never saw you again.

Miriam Ester Princhek, I love you with all that I have. There is nothing more I want in life than you and to be yours.

I won't lie. The 'let's just be friends' thing really never works, but I would try. For you, anything…

So, I know you won't respond to anything I try to send you. You've ignored all of my calls, emails, and letters. There were hundreds. But just on the off chance that you feel like responding, I will keep writing even though I've said nearly twenty times that I would leave you alone if you didn't respond. I can't. I have to know that I actively tried to pursue my own happiness.

And Miranda, you would make me so very happy.

I love you.

Love,

Andrea