(Frontier Is Your Hidden Verb.)

Don't know if there's anyone lovelier than you, Bashfulleigh.
I don't know if you're too tough or too tender. But you're definitely Too.
Talented, Romantic, Sublime-Seeking.

Would compliment you endlessly, but it will only make you blush and say No No No like you do.
Too hard to believe anything good about yourself as well. I can't help liking even that part.

Just now I resist sharing fifty photos of you that I love. Photos I have not shared with anyone, not ever, not Once.
But I cannot do it. I see you rarely, sharing them feels like parting with you again. And Vermont -- so far away -- we cannot part from so far away! We must at least be face-to-face to smother each other's cheeks with kisses.

Instead, I post one here, one there. I force myself to forget that sharing them is an option. To forget that they exist.
This is a way of coping with distance, I'm sure.
 

But today, you are forcing me to share of you, even these few photos. Because I want everyone to read what you make.

(For instance, you have written such a beautiful post: here.)

How lucky am I to have gotten what little time I have with you?
To have given and received such trust -- when we have only met a small handful of times -- not even a handful!

To have walked to bus stops with you, to have walked home from bars with you, to have seen you dance, to have seen you hit on, watched you pick fruit from a grocery store, watched you pick cereal, eaten your blueberries with sugar, slept on your couch, laughed at your vacuum, photographed you (oh my god, I cannot list!) in glamorous and inappropriate ways, received packages from you, received postcards and handwritten notes, worn your sweaters and your button-up shirts, woken you from a nap, been flabbergasted at how good you are at games, witnessed horrifyingly audacious acts with you, seen the best and the worst of what cinema can do with you, covered you in colors and seaweed and clothespins and water, shared exhaustion with you...

I must stop here, just one arbitrary spot!

We must be related in some other context than Time.
I always feel as though I've found you in the flux of some vast, bottomless expanse.

(Ash LaRose)