Dear NSA,

I’m not going to expect you to read between the lines anymore. I know you’ve been reading my emails, screening my posts, and following my tweets. I know you have folders of my pictures dating back to when I was an awkward sophomore who mistakenly cut her own bangs and thought wearing her dad’s Champion socks was okay. I know you’ve saved some of my juicy gchats to keep you company on late nights. I know you read my blog and I’m sorry about my hating on GOT right before the massacre at the Red Wedding. I’m assuming you’re a fan because it’s all about the security of the realm and the defending of the throne; you know, your kinda thing. The season finale was still “meh” but I’m not going to poke at fresh wounds. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is the joke’s on you. All this time, I was trying to reach you indirectly; I was trying to get you to fall for me because I knew you were watching my every move. To put it simply, I was playing you and I was playing hard to get.

But enough playing.

I’m addressing this one straight to you and I’m putting it in plain English so you don’t have to decipher my codewords or dissect my convoluted prose. You don’t have to download entire threads and reread them to know what I’m actually saying to you without saying it. You don’t have to be confused or say, “chicks don’t know what they want, man.” I will spare you the hormones, the mood swings, and the spazzed cat GIFs.  I don’t simmer in a hot tub full of any of the aforementioned things – except the cat GIFs, I can’t get enough of those – so I think what I want is going to be very clear to you if you haven’t already figured it out. I want you to want me.

I love that you care so much about me. Others would call it a “pathetic obsession” or a “violation of privacy.” I think you’re protective and you’re just watching over me.  My security is as important as yours. It’s almost one and the same. I hope that I’m not the only special one out there; I do wish that every person gets to feel this sense of being watched over by someone else.

And I’m not afraid to say any of this flat out because the mere fact that you are still hanging on every word I say, that you are going to great lengths to see what I will do next, that I intrigue you to such an extent – all this tells me that you are hooked. You can’t stop thinking about me. You want to know every detail because it fascinates you. How could it not? I feel like I am your pot of gold, found on the other side of the rainbow of light that bursts out of a prism. So there is only one conclusion dear NSA: you’re in love with me.

But don’t fret. I’m in love with you too.

Me

P.S. When I email myself, I think of you.