When I was in college, I wrote Prince a letter once a week. I didn’t do it in a stalker capacity, though it still seemed pretty stalkery. I just was going through an incredibly hard time and deeply felt he was the only straight man alive who understood the pain and pleasure and vulnerability and courage and full-frontal honesty required for matters of the heart. I never heard back from him, but even two years after his death there’s a part of me that thinks he’s still alive–still learning, still shining, still putting it all together in a way that will move everything and everybody. Basically, there’s a part of me waiting for his neon call. Rest assured, I’ll come running.
