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Yes, this is what I think about when I pass you in the hallway.

Spring was the smell of the wind in your hair. We ran up the hill together, laughing. I can still feel the life, like the flowers, coming alive after a winter of waiting. You picked a goldenrod and tucked it behind my ear. And I fluttered my lashes and laughed. You didn’t know that I’m allergic goldenrod. And I didn’t care. You were horrified when I began sneezing and my eyes grew red and puffy. But I just smiled and laughed and laughed and laughed. I looked into your eyes, and everything felt right.

Brown was the color of your eyes, like fresh baked brownies, still warm and soft. Like a puppy’s eyes. They told a story of innocence and sweetness, with a mischievous twinkle. You laughed with your eyes. You talked with your eyes. I could stand in a room full of people, and always find your eyes. It was like we could talk, even when you weren’t really there.

Have you ever stood in a room crowded with people, and still felt alone? I never felt alone with you. I remember you creeping up on me in the hallway, just to make me jump. I didn’t care that you scared me. I only cared that you were there. And even though there were people around us, rushing, rushing, I felt like we were the only ones in the whole world.

Clean was the taste of the rain on your skin, pouring downward and soaking through my clothes, drenching my hair. We danced in the rain, twirling in the trees, falling in the mud. And I didn’t care that my makeup was running and my jeans were covered in mud. You picked me up and spun me around, before slipping and falling, both of us tumbling down the hill together. I kissed you and smeared mud into your hair, then took off running down the hill. You grinned and came after me. You always came after me.



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