To my sophomore year English teacher,

I never got to say it to your face, but thank you. From the first day I stepped into your classroom, to the last class of the year before summer break, your teaching never failed to amaze me. No one can truly be taught how to write passionately, but you showed me how to fully immerse myself into everything I write; whether it’s a fictional short story or a research paper on the central theme of "Macbeth" (even though "Macbeth" is my least favorite work from Shakespeare).

I was in your last class of the day — all the students were rambunctious and eager to go home, and I could see the pain on your face as you were trying to teach but were repeatedly interrupted.

It made me upset to see that. But I want you to know because I never got the chance to say it... I was listening the whole time. If you ever felt like what you were doing while you taught at my high school was going unnoticed, it never was. I looked up to you and admired you because you never strayed from sticking to the important parts of each story, even if you may have felt like giving up.

You were the first person to ever acknowledge my secret love of writing; I guess you could say you laid out the path for me to become a writer. I didn’t get a 100 percent on every assignment, but with every paper or essay, I felt like I could write what I really wanted.

You assigned us to write short stories a lot. Whether it be fictional, or an event that we experienced in our lives; I wrote a fictional mystery and I swear I was struck with happiness when I finished that paper.

You gave me an A on that paper and made several side notes about my creativity. In fact, I still have that original copy in my old backpack. I never had a problem approaching you for some help. I enjoyed talking to you, not just because you were a cool teacher, but you were also a great person. You genuinely cared about these kids even when they never cared.

On the last day of school, I was sitting by myself while everyone else was scattered with their cliques taking selfies and saying half-assed heartfelt goodbyes. I just sat there, waiting for the bell to ring. You approached me, sat down at the desk next to me and thanked me for giving a damn throughout the year.

I thanked you back for inspiring me and making your class my little safe place for creativity. We smiled and laughed, and then the bell rang. I made a little note in my mind, you were the one teacher I wanted to go to on the last day of my senior year and thank you for making me an overall better person. Unfortunately, by the time senior year rolled around, you transferred to another school.

My heart broke.

Time has passed, I’ve graduated and have so far successfully managed to push away my high school state of mind. Then, one day, I’m shopping through the snack aisles at Target, and I see you come out of the corner with your little boy, I remember you talking about him frequently when you were my teacher. I looked right at you, and you looked right at me. It hit me, that this was the moment where I needed to thank you, this was it; but I did the worst thing ever, I walked away.

I still regret doing that to this day. If I never get to see you again, I’m writing this in hopes that you will see it. I thank you for everything you’ve done. I genuinely hope that you’ve been able to help students the way you helped me.