I'm feeling a little silly right now because I don't even know who I'm writing to, nor do I know if I'm even writing to anyone at all. I don't know how to refer to you.

Do I call you friend? Best friend? Ally? I think it would be strange to start a letter with, "Dear ally," don't you? Although, if in fact, you were an ally, that's probably how I'd call you. I don't even know if you'll be any of these things by the time I hand this over to you, or if we'll even meet, or if I'll ever start to use your name, or if I'll even give this to you at all (although, if I were to give this to you, I think you'd be a little more than an ally)… All I know is, as of this moment, you are one of the 7 billion people on this Earth that I'll be fortunate enough (hopefully fortunate) to meet.

So, for now, (just to be safe) I'll start with, "Dear Seven Billioner," then maybe I'll start working my way up to ally when I think we've already met, okay?

I don't know why I'm writing this, actually. I feel like you could be somewhere out there for me to find, and that I will, soon enough. But I need to be able to, in a way, touch you, speak to you... now. It's hard to wait when I feel like I could've already met you, I could've already talked to you, and I just didn't know it was you... I don't think I have, though. None of these people are as special as I hope for you to be.

I think the most mind-boggling thing about this is that I'm writing to a future you, and not right-now-you. I'm kind of writing this… journey. I'm writing about the journey that I... we(?) took to develop whatever it is that we'll be by the moment you read this. It's kind of setting my fate in stone, don't you think? Or just… concretizing it.

When I think about all the possibilities of who you might be, I think about what you could look like. If you'd have a big nose, or some kind of weird facial piercing. If you'd have a mohawk like our resident badboy Puck, or if you'd have lovely long hair like this short friend that I have, Rachel. No, I don't want you to have hair like Rachel. I want you to have boy hair. I want you to be a boy because…

I think you'd know that by the time I give this to you, though. And you'd probably be laughing right now because, well duh. But the fond kind of laugh, I hope. Not the kind of laugh I hear nowadays.

It's not that bad anymore, really. I'd like to think that it really is getting better. Yesterday was the first time in a year that I got thrown in the dumpster. That hasn't happened since Finn and the guys joined Glee Club. Oh, uh, Finn is my stepbrother. Yes. Long story. I'll probably have told you in person anyway, so there. I don't know why I'm reintroducing you to all of these people, actually. You'll have known them all by now. And yes, I'm in Glee. But, again, you'll have known that.

So anyway, back to the dumpster. I think that it sparked some kind of melancholy in me. Something that I've been suppressing because, I mean I'm THE gay on campus. I'm the independent gay man that's strong and hardheaded and can take anything the bullies throw my way, right? Well, that's never really been me. That's never… and whatever front I've put up to defend that image or title or whatever it is, it's starting to deteriorate.

I realized that I was in the dumpster again. And I was alone. In the dumpster. I was alone in the dumpster. And when I realized that, I felt lonely. It's been a while since I've felt lonely. I thought I was okay, but I'm just not. This is why I'm writing to you.

I'm holding on to you, future you. I'm making it my mission to find you. I'm hoping for you, and that you'll help me feel less lonely. I'm hoping you'll be much more than an ally. I'm hoping I'll move on from calling you "Seven Billioner".

-Kurt