Being significantly older, I was afraid that she would think my interest rather off-putting, so not only did I not approach her, I kind of avoided her... But while I tried to avoid the near temptation of sin, it was obvious whenever we passed in the hall that she was trying to make eye contact with me. Christmas Eve and Midnight Mass finally arrived, and even though it was December, a full church with hundreds of lit candles was more than the AC could cope with, which was typical. I was lucky,. So, what the fuck is it? Mail! Just after breakfast, there’s mail!” Had she read my last poem to her, I wondered? Had she written something for me? We had settled into a pleasant pattern of writing each other poetry. She loved words, and loved the music of poetry. She had first cajoled me. Then she pleaded with me. Finally I had consented to try my hand at it. “I think I’m getting better at it,” I mused. “There’s so much truth, here… so much pain.” I cruelly chuckled to myself. “And, so. More

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