Kate Today I recollected the sheer insanity of our fall escapade. Remember when my parents went out of town and I called you up, and we plotted our rendevouz? My grandmother was home, her large front windows looking into my front yard. My brother was home, a best friend yet still young enough to know the glories of blackmail. So you drove from Parma to my house on that dark fall night, and I stood in my front yard, trying to be conspicious yet visible enough for you to see. You parked your car in the gravel next to the road, and your smile lit up the yard. I didn't know what to say, so we just kissed and then sat under the pine tree in the ditch, hidden from the view of the house. We talked about life and about love and couches and how perfect this moment was. It was a perfect moment, you and your glasses and black-red hair, and my thin body cradled in your arms, with the scent of the pine tree all around. Our kisses seemed endless. I had missed you so much since our first meeting when we both were so much younger but we were by no means less vivid. Finally, you had to leave, and I gave you the journal which was your last years' birthday present and you loved it and kissed me again and looked deep into my eyes and told me that you loved me, and I loved you too and I meant it. You drove off, back into your own world, and I went online and told Paul about it, and how wonderful it was. Let's relive that again. 020515
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