“I don’t know. I don’t think about my friends the way I think about you.” “How do you think about me?” I lick my lips, knowing I’m playing with fire. I don’t need him to answer. Everything I need to know is written all over his face. He reaches out and lightly grabs my mitten-covered hand in his. My body heats despite the freezing air. The juxtaposition of the hot and cold is too much to bear. I stare back at him, preparing to combust. He pauses, closing his eyes to consider my question. “I imagine your every detail. Constantly. God, imagine the things I could accomplish if I could think about
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