Nothing says I love you like stalking

So, this latest offering from Mirabel, here in Capital City, falls somewhat outside the traditional bounds of the unrequited love letter; that is, there are no promises of undying affection, loyalty, and/or lust; nor are there any flickers of cringe-inducingly earnest poetry or imagery. But what it lacks in painful candour, it more than makes up for in social awkwardness. You see, this missive comes from a fellow who had followed the contributor around with a wide-eyed air of an abused puppy for quite some time, (minus the leg-humping and peeing, of course), despite his beloved's complete indifference and the active discouragement of mutual friends. The heights, or depths, of his devotion was revealed when he showed up, uninvited and unknown, bleary-eyed and possibly still drunk, to a breakfast potluck he had overheard his beloved talking about. Nobody invited him; barely anybody knew him. He followed his O of A (object of affection) around the apartment, barely speaking to anybody else while gazing dolefully at his lady love. A couple hours later, she received this:

Hey Mirabel,

How's it going? I meant to talk to you at the potluck thing but was still pretty foggy/headachey from the night before. I'm trying to get people together for a board game night sometime over the next week or so, probably Settlers of Catan but it's open to suggestions. Let me know when you're available if you're interested! Also, we seem to want to talk more about religion/philosophy/politics/whatever, so I was thinking we could meet up for coffee sometime.

Cheers,
Spinoza

The letter? The height of subtlety and circumspection. The dude? Not so much.

Also, I've decided that all my male-pseudonyms will be found from the annals of philosophy. If only because I long for the day when I can post sappy love poetry from 'your ever-loving and devoted Nietzche'