dear evan hansen,

thank you. you changed my life. for forever, i guess. all that it took was just a little bit of reinvention in the shape of a dizzying, remarkable, beautifully written masterpiece. powerful. i never though that i could've been able to fall in love on the spur of the moment, but in that very minute, it was only us: the small theatre and the capturing stage and the blinding lights and the heavy curtains and the enchanting instruments and the hauntingly beautiful voices and evan's letters and them next to a hundred other people holding their breath. next to a hundred other people, all having their own so big, so small stories, there was me. hiding in my hands, drowning in the crowd while it became clear to me at the same time, just like breaking in a glove:
i was found.
the same as you will be found.
words fail to describe how i shivered, cried, laughed, smiled and felt. god, i felt so much. i felt evan's capturing anxiety, i felt the breeze out of the window i was waving through, i felt the viscid dread in my throat and i felt the flicker of hope for love. and i wish these feelings won't ever disappear again because they turned into a part of me. it's so painfully obvious: dear evan hansen has been more than light and magic. it has been a life-changer, a map for whenever i search one, a scoop at à la mode. if i could tell you everything i saw and heard and felt and experienced, i would not hesitate. i would not slam on the brake before i even turn the key, but words fail. thank you, evan. you taught me how to start with stars in my eyes.
and now, all i see is
sky
for forever.

sincerely,

me.