Sometimes I wonder if the people furthest away from us are the people who know us the most. Everyone seems to think that love like this doesn’t exist with distance. But then they don’t read their emails late at night, speaking to you in secret coded words. They don’t see them in the mornings when you’ve left the laptop running, and there they are, asleep on the other side of the screen. And then there’s you. With dewdrops in your hair, and a runaway smile, and eyes brighter than diamonds, and the only thing I can think about, is that I bet you smell like coffee on a Sunday morning.