Dearest,

He was coming up on my left, walking confident.  I admire him, I admit it.  He’s brave, sticks to himself and what he loves – unlike all the other gingerbread men at this school.  Cut from a mold is what they are, truly.  He isn’t.  The cowboy hat bobbed above the crowd, sliding in and out of the makeshift foliage.  “Nice hat,” I ventured when he was in front of me and a little to the left.  He nodded thanks and swept the hat off his head with smooth movements and set it on my head.  I like to imagine that my face held and expression of happiness, but I do believe I looked a bit more appalled.  He smiled, but I thought ahead.  “When shall I give it back to ya?” I questioned.  He was confident, unfazed by the question.  “After school,” he told me, as we were parallel now.  He turned down the adjacent hall and I continued on to my class, confidence perched on my head, I soared.