Hello Justin,

It is I. Section 200 Row 13 Seat 7. I am your favorite fan. I am not to be confused with Row 12 Seat 8. Yes, she was wearing the same shirt as me, and yes I was very upset about it, seeing as though I spent all of Tuesday's Microeconomics class picking out the perfect outfit for when I meet you. An outfit that would say “Hi Biebs. Hello. I am a fun yet approachable fan. Please be my boyfriend. Or be in my Instagram photo. Or let me touch your sleeve tats. Or teach me how to get my oil changed because I am 1000 miles overdue.”

So, last night I met you, Justin Bieber. And I say the word “met” loosely. I did not meet you by Merriam-Webster definition; however, I felt in my heart that you and I connected on an emotional level.

I’m willing to look past the fact that the vast distance between us occasionally distorted my vision to the point that I was unsure of whether I was looking at you, Post Malone, or maybe even David Archuleta from "American Idol Season 7." The point I am trying to make here is this. Justin, I don’t care if you looked like a speck. I don’t care if your baby blonde dreadlocks looked like undercooked noodles. I don’t care about any of that. I am not in love with the feeling. I am in love with the possibility of our future romantic endeavors because I once had "One Less Lonely Girl" as my ringtone for five months.

You opened the concert with “Mark My Words." I think. I am unsure because my new thirteen-year-old gal pal, Caroline, and I were screaming so loudly that we don’t remember actually hearing any music or words.

In all honesty, at first, I was annoyed with this young tween girl. I was like “go hang out with sixth-grade boys, Caroline, he’s mine." But then she gave me a red Sour Patch Kids candy and I decided we would form a mutual alliance, united in our affection for you.

Justin Bieber, you are a friendship-maker.

Okay, so at one point in the night you sat on a small, red loveseat. Honestly, it could have been an enormous, L-shaped sectional for all I know, but from Section 200, it looked like a loveseat.

You said you were "Sorry" (ugh, you are just so funny, stop it) because you thought your guitar was out of tune. But, I heard nothing wrong. All I know is that you were tugging at my heartstrings. And let me tell you, Bieber, they were perfectly tuned.

You sat on that delicate little couch and sang “Home to Mama." I know I speak on behalf of every girl and maybe some guys when I say that we all imagined you in a cream argyle sweater knocking on our mom’s door with a casserole in one hand and a fluffy Pomeranian puppy in the other.

Oh. What do you mean? You don't own a cream argyle sweater? It's fine, we still love you.

At one point in the concert, you put on a Cavaliers jersey. Not going to lie, we all thought you would take your shirt off. Instead, you just teased us and pulled it over your white tee. Caroline, the thirteen-year-old, and I were very disappointed, but we cheered anyway. I don’t know why we all screamed so loudly when you put that jersey on.

That must be when you know you’re really, really famous. People scream wildly when you put ON a shirt. No one screams for me when I dress myself, and if they did, I think I would be more concerned than content. That is beside the point.

What is it like to be you, Justin, please tell me? As a follow-up question, how do you like your eggs?

Thirdly, the most important and highly-anticipated question we are all wondering:

Did you mean it when you said Cleveland was your favorite audience? If the answer is yes, you are so welcome.

Watching you live was like seeing the original Mona Lisa. You were beautiful. You were far away from me. You didn't really say much.

The thing is, I didn't need words from you. When you sang "Purpose," I almost launched myself onto the stage in a passionate pursuit. I stopped because the middle-aged mother-of-three standing beside me advised me that I should just add you on LinkedIn instead. I don't know if she was serious. I looked you up anyway. You do not have one. However, Justin Bieber, Manager of Pacific Gas and Electric, eagerly accepted my request.

Also, let's just take a minute to reflect upon the moment when you brought that young toddler on stage. You held her in your arms, and I can say with unshakable certainty and fewer than three scholastic journal sources that it was the cutest thing since Kris Jenner playing the Mean Girls "cool mom" at the Victoria's Secret Show.

You sat on the stage while singing with that young child. We swooned. We applauded. We wept enough tears to fill the Nile. Or maybe that was just my best friend Angela.

Thank you, Justin Drew Bieber, for giving us many things. We thank you for these things, including but not limited to giving us the motivation to burn enough calories from dancing to reward ourselves with sweet, glorious Barrios tacos after the show.

Section 200 Row 13 Seat 7 has loved you longer than Caroline and everyone else. I have loved you since your humble beginning. Like when you sang "One Time" and held up your finger exactly thirty-one times. I just watched the 4:02 YouTube video and counted. It is indeed thirty-one times.

Or when I heard the song "Baby" and changed the word to my name, "Gabie" and sang it to myself. No one else quite understood or appreciated that substitution the way I knew you would.

"Leave it to Bieber" to host a great concert. Even though Twitter blocked you from Trending Topics because you were trending for three months, Cleveland will never block you. Whenever U smile, we smile.

As long as you love me,
A faithful Belieber