For one year, each new month will bring with it a hand-typed love letter, semi-personalized to profess undying affection for everything you are, were, and will be. Swoon as you learn more about your admirer as he or she (you choose the gender) grows less guarded and lets you into their world. One letter will even contain a lock of hair*. At the end of each month, you may begin to worry that your love has grown distant and cold, like a dying star, only to sigh with relief as a new letter arrives and the love is reaffirmed. As you cradle the correspondence against your bosom, you may find that food tastes better, birdsong rings sweet and true all around you, and the world becomes a less dismal cesspool. At the end of 12 months, the romance will end in beautiful melancholy, like the sinking of a great schooner or the last line of a poem about a sick horse. You will be saddened, yes. But your life will be all the richer for the experience.