The way a book smells when you thumb through it. The way quiet winter air makes you feel like no one else exists. The smell of the woods after a thunderstorm. That split second before your chair tips back. The feeling right before you cry. The euphoria before the heartbreak. That moment when you wonder if they think of you the way you think of them. These things, I live for.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
"What day is it?" It's today," squeaked Piglet. My favorite day," said Pooh."
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