She sent me pictures and rose petals and music. Things I can see and smell and hear, and I realize she gets it. And I'm not sure how she gets it, how it is that we've come to know each other this way, in months of emails that seldom go beyond the day-to-day, but we have. And she does. She knows the importance of things that are sensual, that can be drawn across and into nerve endings and allowed to ferment their own reactions. The way to get past my constant analysis of everything is through my senses, and the only things missing now are taste and touch. And it's spring, really truly warm and joyful mountain springtime, and I walked back to the dorm in the period before lunch with the box in my arms feeling like there wasn't room in my skin for everything inside me. I love the spring, and against all odds, she's managing to make it even better. This girl who gets me.
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