Letter to Donald Miller

Don,
I think we're soul mates, but not in the way I wrote to Zach Hanson when I was nine. Do you remember him? He was the little drummer boy for Hanson, that poppy group that sang all those silly songs. I loved them because in their song "Yearbook," they mentioned my name, and so I played it over and over, dramatically acting out the song and responding so passionately when they said "Jamie."
But I don't think we're soul mates in that way. You bring out my inner Christian hippie and I would not make you feel uncomfortable because just as you feel uncomfortable taking off your shirt, I'm not so aggressive in showing off my ta-ta's either, so it's perfect!
Also, we tend to have the same stream-of-conscious writing style, like a more put-together and un-Irish James Joyce. Do you like James Joyce? If so, I can deal with that as long as you can deal with Henry James and Jane Austen and Sylvia Plath and William Wordsworth. If you don't like Wordsworth, well, maybe we're not soul mates. Although a love for Byron and Keats would partially regain my respect for you.
Also, your church makes me feel happy inside. I've never been there, which is strange that it makes me feel all happy, but the idea of it seems familiar in that home communal sense. Because I struggle with that Christian community thing, if I were around artists and people who need alone time as much as I do, well, then I wouldn't feel so alone.
Also, I love your cartoons. Especially the sexy carrot and the one about Don the Astronaut. Did you know that I wanted to be an astronaut when I was in 3rd grade?
Also, Portland is one of the cities I MUST see before I die. It's tolerant of others, it's near-ish Seattle (because I love all things rain), and I've never been to the west coast.
So, Don, when I get the fundage and maybe after the Peace Corps (2 years) and the completion of my MFA in Creative Writing (another 2 years,) and a year to chase Damien Rice all over Ireland/Iceland/wherever else he may choose to be a recluse for an extended period of time without an album, I will be knocking on your door. I'm gonna say, "Hi, Don, I'm Jamie the Soul Mate, and I'm ready to move in. You don't have to take off your shirt, so can we go hiking tomorrow?"
And I think you'll let me in because though I tend to think strange thoughts and write strange letters, I'm nice and I think you're nice, and, well, I have Million Miles autographed by you as a gift from my friends. Speaking of that, you may need to work on that signature. D and M are not particularly loopy capital letters, yet your signature looks like an intense hurricane wave.

Your future soul mate,
Jamie