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Sandra (Steingirl) Svensson
Halmstad, Sweden
eMail: the_steingirl@hotmail.com
Dear Jim,
I have thought about writing this a long time ago, but it’s not until now (Aug. 24) that I’ve understood fully how to put it. I got the BFG videos from Ann Howell two days ago, and it was when I sat watching them I understood that this couldn’t be about anything else than what I feel for you. I had thought of actually writing about something else just, just for once, but it just didn’t happen. I can’t think of a better way to tell you and all the people involved in this project what it’s like for me, who am so hopelessly attracted to you.
There are so many people who think that being attracted to someone is all about sex. Hah. What do they know? I don’t even like the word "attracted" just because of that. It’s not that at all.
I can watch you for hours. I can just sit there and smile at what I’m seeing, perfectly happy with that. I could spot you moving miles away by now, after all the times I’ve unconsciously taken in the way you move, your mimics, the way you smile. I would be ever so happy if I was allowed to hold your hand or just gently touch you for hours and hours. I love hearing your voice, I smile at the very mentioning of your name on TV. The mere thought of you can brighten up entire weeks for me. Even during the winters, which I don’t like at all, I can take a look at any picture of you and you instantly make me think of summer and flowers and warm sunshine (and you think you’re the Prince of Darkness!). I’d be so glad just to sit close to you, and if I ever got the chance, I could watch you move -or just be still for all that matters - for ages. I know that I, already as a child, could do that. If I sat playing and whatever I was playing with made a move that to me looked beautiful, I could continue doing that all day. I never got tired of watching what to me was utter perfection, even though most of my toys were battered and well used and far from perfect. In my eyes, they were jewels. And so are you. I hold you so incredibly dear, in ways you’d be astonished to know. I want to hug you hard until I nearly crush you, and yet at the same time I want to hold you tenderly and softly. I’d want to have terrible arguments with you and then tell you that you’re the most precious thing in the world to me. I can’t think of all the mornings when my life has felt like something weighing so heavily on my shoulders that I’d doubt I’d ever rise again, but then the thought of you comes up and it’s not as hard anymore. I actually tried explaining this to my mother once, since she’s always been somewhat scornful of my "idol worship", and when I had finished she looked at me and said: "I had no idea it was like that. If all of this is true, then you’re pretty unique. That kind of love doesn’t show often as things are today." Ever since that, she hasn’t said much about it all. It felt like she finally understood. Now I only have to work a little on the rest of town. J
There has been an amazing amount of people who have tried to "convert" me; they have taken me out, they have tried to point out other good-looking guys to me, with no luck. My friend Sandra even took me to see MI:2 with Tom Cruise, and I know that lots of people asked me afterwards if I thought he was hot. And sure, he’s not ugly. I can even say I think he’s really sexy, but then I put him next to you, and he inevitably loses every time. He turns in to wallpaper. They all do. I couldn’t even begin to compare any other guy to you. And sure, I think that moviestars like, say, Banderas, Connery and Cruise look great. Not to mention those soap opera guys in "The Bold and the Beautiful" or "Sunset Beach" and all that crap. But they’re too much. After watching them for half an hour or so, I feel like I’ve been having my Christmas-tree left out all year, stacked with all the garish lights and glitter and stars and what not. It hurts my eyes, and it takes away the charm of actually having the tree during Christmas.
You are so much more than that to me. You’re something real and genuine in a world seemingly made of plastic and fake noses. You’re an incredibly beautiful piece of art. But it’s not just as simple as you being very beautiful. I wish it were. It’s all those thing you are alongside with it; you’re sexy and heartbreakingly cute at the same time, you’re strong and weak and mighty and vulnerable, you’re megalomaniac and modest, self-assured and shy, egotistic and caring, tender and rough, angry and happy, perfect with flaws, mean and sweat, sensual and funny, and, in the end, so incredibly, crushingly human. You’re a work of art that stuns. I know that when I suggested that I’d write something like this for this project, many people told me that it might sound a bit intimidating; the fact that I think you’re so much more than almost any other boy I’ve ever met. But only more human. I can’t recall ever thinking you were perfect - in the way that most others would define the word. In the world out there, "perfect" means something like a 100% symmetric face, shining, even teeth, not one ounce of fat too much anywhere, always helpful, happy and caring, the hair never a mess; a person who’s never insecure or lost. A person who never makes a fool of himself, who never loses temper, who’s never grumpy or annoyed and who always knows the right words and moves, who has all the right opinions and aspects of everything.
That is not at all what "perfect" has ever meant to me. That is just boring. A perfect person to me, is all of that above. You’re perfect to me just because you’re not, and I’d never ask you to or want you to be anything else than what you are. You’re beautiful. Some days I desperately feel that I can’t emphasize that enough, some days I don’t know if it matters, and some days I think that it actually does. I hope so, at least.
I hope you have a blast today, Jim. This is your day, and that’s definitely a cause for celebration.
Happy birthday and take care.
I love you more than you know.
Sandra
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