Like a fifteen year old swooning over her first real love talking about you makes me blush slightly, shift in my seat, and even sometimes cross my ankles tightly.
Thinking of you while I lay in bed warmth begins to eminate from my plams. If I close my eyes my thoughts wander to the embraces of last night that while clothed and upright made time stand still and allowed for a spiritual communication so clear it required no verbalization.
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the realities or just perception of one transplant in her mid-twenties
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