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.
