I started at the top and worked my way down.

You see Lord I would like to send you an email,
But Google and Netscape said you are not connected,
So, I tried to send you are normal letter like to Santa,
But mum and dad said you live to high upstairs,
So, Jeremiah the prophet gave me your phone number,
So now at least I can read you this letter.

She really was weating Stan's bracelet on her arm, something she had scarcely allowed herself to think about-at least not often; it would be so far in the future, if it happened at all. And now it had happened, months before she had dreamed it could.

His heart beat with awe: he felt that he had never before beheld love visible.

Written By Edith Wharton

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