I love you to the moon and back again.

Dearest Professor,

The first time I saw you was like the first time I saw a shooting star. You stole my breath and filled me with joyous, childlike wonder. I wished upon you for our forbidden love to come true, even if it is doomed to burn out too soon in passionate glory like a meteor snuffed out by the very atmosphere keeping us alive.

I couldn’t stop staring at your face, pressed far too close against your Dell desktop computer camera. Your Zoom square, which I pinned for more intimate viewing, was a flashing screen of perfect little vignettes of your stunning visage. A bushy eyebrow here, a flashing smile there, your teeth yellow as the rising sun. And your nose, your glorious nose, cratered and pockmarked like the wise and ancient moon. Like her, you are a source of wonder, the keeper of the secrets of an aged and mysterious solar system.

Yet the moon, for all her radiant beauty, is but a barren, distant rock merely reflecting the light of the sun. She is shallow, a superficial simulacrum of something real. But you are the genuine source that lights my way. Without you, I would be lost in the dead of night.

But that’s all you are right now; a far-off mirage just out of reach. I see you, but I cannot be with you. I long to feel your wrinkled hand on my arm, on my thigh. We could be Orion and Scorpius, stalking one another in an animalistic battle for dominance. I want to be hunted by you; I yearn to be impaled by your mighty stinger. Or perhaps I shall be your Cassiopeia, bound and hung upside down as punishment for disobedience. There I will dangle, at your mercy, for eternity. Or shall it be that we are destined to be the Dippers, your Big to my Little? One and the same, yet forever kept apart by the vast, impenetrably inky sea of space.

Maybe I’m a fool, an idiot in love. Maybe we just aren’t written in the stars. Or maybe we have to take our destiny into our own hands. We could create a new constellation: you spewing globs of white against the canvas of my back like God peppering the blank night sky with the first stars in the virgin cosmos. 

We can build our own private universe together. You just have to say yes.

If you wish to embark on this stellar journey with me but want to keep things discrete, all you have to do is say any of the following words/phrases during our next class session:

  • “Foundational Arithmetic” 
  • “Uranus”
  • “Celestial”
  • “Kepler’s Law”
  • “Meteor”
  • “Electromagnetic”
  • “Plasma”
  • “Astronomy”
  • “Planet”
  • “I want to have sex with you”

With love enough to fill the infinite universe,

Anonymous

you are all the stars in my sky via Bwarchives