I can feel you: running through the alphabets, between the curve of the O's which I wish could mean Ours, or between the straight lines of the M which perhaps stands for Me then we step forward then it just turns into We. I can feel you, between the mere words I am typing that may make no sense, as I'd rather talk with your eyes instead. It was there, within your deep irises: the hope. It was there, within your deep irises: the longing. They weren't yours, as they were the reflections on how I see me in the being of 'beside' you.

Mistype. Misread.

I can feel you, as well as I'm feeling the butterflies within.