To: <classcrush@umail.ucsb.edu>
From: Kira Logan <kiralogan@umail.ucsb.edu>
Subject: I love you, Canvas message me back
Random crush in my writing class,
I’m sorry if this comes off strong, but I love you. The way you mysteriously lean onto the wall in the right corner of the room really does something for me, I guess.
No, I don’t know anything about you besides your first and last name — but that’s all you legally need to know at the clerk’s office downtown to obtain a marriage license. And probably your date of birth. When’s your birthday? I love you. Sorry if this is all too much for you.
I walked into class reading “The Sound and the Fury” by William Faulkner and saw you reading a paperback at your desk. If it weren’t for my perfect posture and nearly innate deep breathing exercises, I probably would’ve dropped dead from your alluring mystique. I love you.
One day, at the end of class, I held the door for you and you said thank you. I talked to my friends about it so much they had to cut me off at 20 minutes. I love you.
You don’t have Instagram. Who doesn’t have Instagram in 2025? Not that I looked up your name or anything. I would never do that. I’m much too busy reading pretentious books and cutting out newspaper clippings and painting my nails ruby red to do something as trivial as that. But hypothetically, if I were to have looked you up, and you didn’t have Instagram, that might’ve only intensified your appeal. I love you.
I told myself I had until the end of the quarter to talk to you — but what do you say to the love of your life who doesn’t know they’re the love of your life?
“Hi, I want to marry you and my friends have been trying to find you on public records.”
I don’t know how well you would take that. Unless you would take it well. In which case, I have to talk to you after class on Wednesday.
Each new piece of information you casually drop in your writing only ignites my love for you more. Born and raised in the city I want to move to, and a strikingly similar major to me? It’s getting pretty uncanny, so I say let’s just cut the bullshit and get married.
Even if we find differences in our personalities, that’s a-okay! I’m known for completely transforming my sense of self to match my romantic partner’s interests anyway, so I can literally be whoever you want me to be. I love you.
My friends know you as my husband. They’re equally as convinced we will be together. You have at least 10 girls, including me, praying for our togetherness — you cannot let us down.
Your silver rings reflect off of the fluorescent lighting in Girvetz Hall and they almost blind me, but I can handle it. I know our wedding bands will be much brighter than that.
If my fear precedes me and I cannot bear to utter a word to you by the end of the quarter, I plan to take extreme measures. I am going to Canvas message you my phone number. I can’t let your wife pass you by, that just seems unethical.
I will be anxiously pacing around my room for the foreseeable future until you respond. I love you.
Warmly,
Your wife from your writing class
