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  • There are four treasures given to me, but you are the fifth treasure I found, or the one which found me, along life's way. The four I housed, breathed and blessed with groaning, which grew and were born. They live and are moving away from me with every breath. But you are the one, the fifth treasure, and you do this most unusual thing: You move closer.

    Before I knew of you, I remember pausing by the plaque just outside my classroom window, eating an apple during a class break, and at the end of the last sentence my eyes dripped tears with a throat full choking, longing for air. I spat out my bite of apple just so I could breathe. I wondered what it would be like to be loved like that in just one lifetime.

    When we look at Powerpoints and highlighted main ideas in class, I confine myself to a straightjacket desk but my heart, my mind is bursting, simply bursting, to see your shape in the campus courtyard illumined by aging lamp posts. Or maybe even the moon, if I'm lucky. Then all I can do is look at my watch and with wishing longing hang to time's hand to pull the minutes, the hours around their circle. All the while, I twirl the tip of my pen between my salivating teeth, I will fake keen interests in the professor's words, knowing your silhouette will break me free.

    The bell rings, I gather my books in my arm, and I spring from my chair, the first out the classroom door. I tumble down the creaking stairs, think of you, knowing you are waiting for me in the courtyard when my night class ends. You are waiting, always waiting, by the ancient water pump, just to carry my books to my car. Arm in arm we walk on the sidewalk, you closest to road's edge. At my car, standing face to face, you try real hard not to get fresh, but I let you anyway.

    Arm in arm, I showed you this garden one evening after my class, after we met and you knew my schedule. You wanted to see me, in the cracks and crevices of my life, you made yourself available to me. You stopped and read the plaque even in the frigid winter, without electric Spring mounting the land, without my even knowing just how busy, how hard you must've tried to find time in your life to meet me after my Monday night class. Even after all this time, without fail, you still come to walk me to my car, carry my books, consistent like the bell tower's anthem.

    You said something early on after I showed you the plaque, something I have remembered. You said, "We will create our own garden, just for the two of us." The most unusual thing has happened since then. In my thawing heart, I believe you.
    What could be more delicate than cherry blossoms dripping on a lover's path?
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