It's been a bit busy the last few days, running errands and meeting old classmates, but that's not an excuse for not writing earlier. The fact is I have been thinking of you almost every minute of every hour, often even while I was in the middle of a conversation or on my way between destinations. In my experience, this is a sign of being in love. But in love with whom? I only know of you through your e-mails and the pictures you've taken of the flowers. This is the first time I have ever been fascinated by someone without a face. Romantic love involves a lot of imagination, and I don't know whether my faceless object of love is hampering or heightening my imagination of you. I've found myself intrigued by this experience of mine. On one hand, I have been enjoying the feeling of falling in love, literally blindly, and observing my reaction in dealing with it; while on the other hand, I have been struggling with the decision of writing you or not, and if so, on soups only, or about my true feelings towards you...oh, do I dare to force the moment to its crisis? Mo, this is the reason why I have not written earlier. I'm afraid by forcing it I may break it. Now that I've bared my feelings, I am at your mercy.