...the stage was set...

It appears that one can be direct and clear and forthcoming and beautiful and melty in an email - that it doesn't all have to be games and innuendo, a sinuous web that just gets thicker, replete with nuance and false humility. Words don't have to immerse you in confusion and anxiety, but can be so sweet in their clarity, and you see that's what you're waiting for, that's what you wanted in the first place.

It wasn't my email, just so you know.

But I read it, and I wanted it. I wanted to juxtapose someone else's name on that signature and pretend it was mine, that someone was crazy about me, that I made them weak in the knees with my laugh, that they wanted to get to know me better.

And it was so easy, it came so easily and without effort, and I think, maybe, that's how it should be.

I'm sitting in Robarts, and I had been trying to study. Really though, I was composing an email. Then I heard my name, and she told me to read the email on her computer. I almost didn't need to though, the way her face was lit up almost told me everything the email contained, wordlessly. But I read it, and I hugged her. Then I closed my email drafter and opened my text book.

Sometimes you just have to know when to call it quits.

And when to open the emergency brownie envelopped in saran-wrap in your purse.