An Open Letter to John Mayer Because I Must Express How Ardently I Love and Admire Him

Dear John,
It's no secret that I have a long-standing, passionate devotion to you. I've tried in every way I can to show you that I care about you - writing poems about your hair and offering fashion advice when I saw you falling short.

And then of course, I've publicly declared my love for you on more than one occasion. It's so much like a sickness that I've given it a name.

But I'm going to go out there on that limb yet again and profess my love. I could go on and on about how deliciously good looking you are with your guitar-playing forearm muscles, thoroughly tatted arms and voluptuous lips. And believe me, that has it's allure. Plus, there's your stellar musical skills which I've had the pleasure of viewing live and in person on more than one occasion.

But the thing is, I get you. I get your bizarre sense of humor. I get your moments of introspection. I get those aha times in life that you somehow manage to boil down and pour out in honeyed tones from a guitar and express with lyrics that make me close my eyes and sigh because they're just so right on. I get you, John. I really do. And I suspect you might get me, too.

Maybe that's what keeps the fires burning for you. It's not just that you're smokin' - even though you are. It's that, when I read between the lines, when I feel between the notes, I think that we could be good together. At the very least, I can guarantee you we'd have a good time over a cold beer.

So, John, if you come across this letter, think about it. I know you've got millions of teenage girls screaming that they want to have your baby, and beautiful celebs lining up to hang on your arm. But if you come back down from there and decide that instead of asking "Why Georgia" you want to ask "Why not?" give me a call. And just as closing remark, I've got fabulous lips, too.

xoxoxo,
Ash