"OK, a little higher.....a little more....no, too much....lower....just a little itty bit....there. Perfect." You fold your arms in front of you as you admire the crepe paper accordion heart hanging perfectly centered from the foyer ceiling.

"Well?" Obi-Wan places his hand on his hip as he leans against the top rung of the ladder.

One hand rises to hold your chin as you assess how long you can make a patient Jedi stand on top of a ladder.

He clears his throat and raises an eyebrow at you.

"Alright, that's good. You can come down now."

"Ah, my lady speaks," he says with appropriate amounts of drama and sarcasm as he begins his descent down the ladder.

In response, you hurry forward and smack him on the butt. "I didn't give you leave to speak, you scalawag."

"Hey!" He steps down to the floor and turns to face you. "I thought you said the whole point of this holiday was to express love and devotion."

"No, what I said was, the whole point of Valentine's Day - not a holiday, or we wouldn't have to work - was for retail establishments to convince us that we need to express love and devotion by buying stuff."

Obi-Wan folds the ladder and scoots it over against the wall, knowing full well that his duties are not complete until every female in the building is called down to inspect his work. "But Valentine....it is not a word I'm familiar with."

"Saint Valentine," you say. "Some Catholic guy, secretly married a bunch of couples he wasn't supposed to or some such thing. I forget exactly. Anyway, Saint Valentine's Day officially became the day for lovers at some point or another. Whatever."

Obi-Wan grins. "I wish I would have had you for a history teacher," he says.

You wrinkle your brow at him and give him a good poke in the ribs. "The point being, the day has become feared and loathed by millions as a day when we celebrate with cheap paper decorations and unrealistically high expectations…and then become all angsty when everyone else seems to be more loved than we are." You pick up the pile of red construction paper hearts trimmed with frilly lace and eye the walls as your next target. Then you sigh and say, "C'mon, I'll make you lunch."

"Thank you." Obi-Wan smiles as you casually toss the hearts back to the floor. "You'll pardon my discourteousness....but it all seems a little....tacky, I believe is the word you would use."

"It's supposed to be tacky," you say as you swing your arms out to the side, strutting quickly in front of him in your flannel jammie pants and short, widely warped sweatshirt that met the business side of a hot dryer. "Tacky romance and la-de-da. It's tradition," you say as you stop and hit your back against the kitchen door to push it open, wagging a finger at him. "Mustn't argue with tradition."

"No, of course not," Obi-Wan says, reaching over your head to hold the door open as you trundle through. He takes a seat at the island as you begin to rummage through the cupboards. "So tell me more of these Valentine traditions."

"Well," you say, peering into the pantry. "Macaroni okay? It's white cheddar," you say enticingly.

"Yes, that's fine," he says. "Can I help?"

You turn to face him. "Can you boil water with a mind whammy?" you ask quite seriously.

He gives you a slightly quizzical, overwhelmed look.

"Kidding," you say, breaking into a grin. "I've got this covered." You reach down and pull out a stockpot. "Anyway…. Valentine's Day." You fill the pot with water and set it on the stove, switching on the burner and then walking over to the island to face him. "People give cards…and gifts. You know…flowers - mainly roses, chocolates, candy hearts that taste like Tums, fabulous jewels, and trips to Paris."

The what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look on his face is so familiar to you now, you hardly notice it. "I see," he says, not entirely convincingly.

"And we hang up heart decorations in all shades of pink and red…..like you said, tacky."

"Hmmm," he replies. "I'm really not terribly fond of it."

"Yeah well, most men aren't," you say. "Too much pressure on them to come through with the right token of affection."

"Oh no, not the day itself. But the red."

You lean forward against the island. "What about the red?"

"I'm not fond of it."

"You hate red?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't say I hated red. I'm just not fond of it."

"You hate red," you say as a definitive statement this time.

"I didn't say-"

"Men can't hate red. It's against the testosterone code," you say placing your hands on your hips. "Besides, with all those boring earthy tones at the Temple, I'd think you'd like a little red now and then. I mean, the Council chamber looks like y'all gave carte blanche to the Howard Johnson decorator."

"How do you know what the Council chamber looks like?" he asks incredulously. "And who is Howard Johnson?"

You turn around, shaking your head as you check the water on the stove. "I can't believe you don't like red."

Obi-Wan sighs like he always does when he becomes completely befuddled with you. "I really wish you wouldn't turn every little thing I say into a major issue."

You dump the pasta into the boiling water and then swing around to face him. "I don't turn every little thing you say into a major issue. I just want to know why you don't like red. That's just not normal. Everyone likes red. Even….even…." Your eyes get wide as a brilliant comment pops into your head, and you point at him, saying, "Even COMMUNISTS like red," confirming, once again, that you are always and forever a child of the 80's.

Obi-Wan gives you that you're-a-nutter-but-I-adore-you-so-I'll-tolerate-your-insanity look. "Red strikes me as a bit too garish, especially in large amounts. I simply prefer a more subtle approach. An elusive sexuality is far more intriguing than a brash come on, in my opinion," he says calmly and convincingly.

And since he said "elusive" and "sexuality"….. Rolling separately off his tongue at a great distance apart, the words give cause for a moment of recovery. But combined in one sentence, one following the other no less, they become a power to reduce a woman with serious attitude to a quivering puddle of estrogen.

"Yeah….well," you reply eloquently once you regain respiratory function. "That's Valentine's Day for ya. Garish as all get out." You turn an eye to the rising boil on the stove. "Especially the cards. All flowery and mushy full of sappy poetry."

"You don't care for poetry?"

"Greeting card poetry is just….well, it's frightening," you say, dumping the macaroni into the colander. "I'm really not a big fan of poetry anyway."

"What's wrong with poetry?"

"Hey," you say, dumping the macaroni back in the pot and adding the mystery dry cheese and milk. "If you are allowed to hate red, I'm certainly allowed to be a non-fan of poetry."

"I never said I hated-"

"And love poems, especially," you interrupt, reaching up in the cupboard for two bowls. You divvy up the macaroni and walk back over to the island, setting a bowl in front of Obi-Wan. "Big time sappy," you say, grabbing a couple spoons out of the drawer. "Even the greats, so to speak. Byron….Browning….whoever. Just a little too sappy for me." You shovel the macaroni into your mouth, adding, "Except for Shakespeare. He rocks."

Obi-Wan eats politely, trying to keep his mouth closed as he smiles.

"I'm not being silly," you say.

He swallows and raises his eyebrows. "I didn't say a word."

"But you were thinking many," you say, pointing your spoon at him. "Sappy love poetry….especially when people try to recite it to each other just seems….well, it just makes me giggle."

Obi-Wan nods. "Yes, it can feel rather contrived, I suppose."

"Contrived. That's it. It's like going to a wedding and wanting to crawl under the pew when the nervous couple try to stutter out the mushy vows they wrote that they never would actually say in normal conversation with each other." You take a breath and continue. "I mean, poetry is fine when it's on a page. But when average schmo's try to actually say it to each other, it sounds ridiculous. Makes me embarrassed for them."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "You are terribly cynical."

"So?"

"So….candy, flowers, love poems….these are all part of the tradition of Valentine's Day?"

"Yeah."

"And it is customary to go along with this tradition even though everyone fears and loathes it, as you said."

"Basically. Uh-huh," you say, nodding your head.

Obi-Wan scratches his head, smiles, and shrugs his shoulders. "I must say….you are a very…..curious people."

A wicked grin spreads across your face as he continues to smile at you in a most disarming manner. "That aint all we are, sugar."

"Pardon?"

You reach forward and grab his half-eaten bowl of macaroni.

"Wait, I'm not-" "We need a bath," you interject, cutting off his protest as you set the bowls on the counter.

"I do?" His face scrunches up in confusion.

You chuckle softly and walk to him, winding his braid around your hand and pulling his face down toward yours. "I said…we."

"Oh," he replies softly, his eyebrows darting up in rapt interest.

"C'mon," you say, giving his braid a light tug.

Obi-Wan is on his feet in a split second as you lead him toward the door by his hair. You stop suddenly and turn to face him.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Forget the bath…." you say as you dart over to the pantry and rummage through the shelves.

"But…."

"….for now," you purr as you playfully swing a jar of Nutella in front of his face.

His eyes grow wide. "Hold onto that very tightly," he orders.

"Why?" A moment later you squeal as you suddenly find yourself upside down and slung casually over Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"You move too slow," he says, striding quickly out of the kitchen as you cackle against his back.

"Okay, fine," you sigh, crawling on your bed and plopping down on your stomach to read that book that you're so glad you have time for now that you are apparently being stood up on Valentine's Day since you haven't seen or heard from Obi-Wan since your delightful Nutella fest. "He's a Jedi," you say aloud to remind yourself. "Duty, duty, and all that shit."

This really shouldn't bother you so much. You are a strong, independent woman who can function just fine in the world without a date on Valentine's Day. That's right. It doesn't matter that every single other woman in the building received something today. Not that you actually saw or talked to every single other woman in the building….but from the looks of the candy wrappers downstairs and the scent of flowers permeating every freakin' corner of the building, you can only assume that you are obviously correct in the fact that they trained their non-Earthling boyfriends the right way.

You turn back a page in your book and try to re-read it for the third time. Then you sigh and drop your head onto the pillow.

You jump as the ringing of the phone jars you from your little nap. "Hello."

"Am I too late?"

You smile as you always do when you finally receive this call, and he asks you the same question every time. "No, not at all."

"I'm sorry, I know we had dinner plans, but-"

"Nah, don't worry about it. I'm not hung up on this Valentine's kitsch like everyone else in this building seems to be."

He chuckles lightly, always seeing right through you.

"Besides, you don't like red. This place is covered in red. Probably won't be any fun for you anyway."

Obi-Wan sighs into the phone. "Not favoring the color red does not mean I don't want to come over."

"Sure, fine…come on over," you say, all the while hoping he can't pick up the plot hatching in your dangerous brain.

"Alright," he says. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"See ya," you say, slowly hanging up the phone in case he can sense that, too. Then you hurdle over the bed and start rummaging through your closet.

A soft knocking on your door alerts you to his arrival. "Come in," you call as you lounge on your stomach again, reading your book, wearing your favorite flannel nightshirt. You turn your head as the door opens and give him a welcoming smile. "C'mon in, sailor."

He smiles at you. "I'm sorry I missed dinner."

"No problem," you say. "We'll do it some other time." And then you turn your attention back to your book.

Obi-Wan stands and watches you for a moment. Then he leans down and kisses the top of your head. "You're not angry?"

"Nope," you say, your eyes still fixed on your book.

He makes a quiet, "Hmm," noise and then steps away from the bed. You hear him remove his robe and boots, and then the muffled thud of his belt hitting the carpet. Then the mattress sinks at your feet. "Are you alright?" he asks, his hand coming to rest on the back of your right calf.

"Yeah, fine. You?" You concentrate on keeping your breath steady as you feel his fingers lightly caress the back of your knee. Then his fingers wrap around your ankle and bend your calf perpendicular to the mattress.

"I'm very well," he finally says.

You twitch as you feel his warm wet lips on the top of your foot, just below your toes. He kisses the front of your ankle, a rather sensitive spot as evidenced by your hair standing on end. You will yourself to focus on your book as you feel his lips on the back of your calf….and then he lowers it back to the mattress only to place a rather attentive kiss to the back of your knee.

"Don't tickle," you say, trying to cover up the electric shiver that runs through your body.

"I'm not tickling," he says, his voice remarkably low in his throat as he runs his hands up the backs of your thighs, pushing your nightshirt up your legs. He tenderly suckles the soft flesh of your thigh…and then he gasps when his hands glide over the curve of your rear.

You grin.

You feel him move, his hands sliding over your buttocks again, studying the feel of something that isn't your usual cotton Jockey's. Your nightshirt is hurriedly pushed up higher, and you cover your face to hide the bigger grin as he gasps again…not that he's looking at your face. Instead, he's seeing….

Red. Satin.

And not just any red. A heart-stopping, mouth-watering, knock-a-grown-man-on-his-ass red.

He awkwardly pushes your nightshirt up higher, yanking it over your head with some difficulty as you stay on your stomach. You start to laugh as it gets stuck, the front of the shirt still trapped under the weight of your body. You turn slightly to the side, and he rids your body of the offending garment. And then you shiver once more when you finally see the look on his face. Awe is the best way to describe his expression as his eyes land on the matching bra that gives you cleavage you never dreamed you had.

"Happy Valentine's Day," you say as he continues to study your lingerie-clad body with intent. Then you roll back over on your stomach. "But I know that you don't like red." The end of your sentence hits a speed bump as his lips descend to the small of your back. You toss your book aside as his lips make their way up your spine, lightly caressing the skin…just enough for your throat to tighten around your words as you continue to feign disinterest. "Just as I don't like poetry."

Before you know it, his lips are tracing the curve of your ear. "Your love and pity doth the impression fill…." He gently sucks your earlobe in between his lips. "Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow…."

Oh gods.

His fingers plunge into your hair and push it to the side, bearing the back of your neck to his kisses. "For what care I who calls me well or ill…." The muscles in your arms and shoulders turn to jelly as your head falls foreword into the pillow. "So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?"

The Padawan doth recite….

"You are my all-the-world…."

The Bard.

"…and I must strive…." His lips dance along the side of your neck. "…to know my shames and praises from your tongue…." He shifts his weight to the right as his hand pushes your shoulder, gently urging you to roll onto your back.

Resistance is futile….and insane.

"None else to me, nor I to none alive…." His voice richly weaves around each word with such ease. You settle on your back and remind yourself how to breathe. "…that my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong."

If chocolate could speak.

He rests on his right forearm, his clothed body warming your mostly bare skin. "In so profound abysm I throw all care…." He leans down and kisses your forehead. "…of other's voices…." Kisses your temple. "…that my adder's sense…" Kisses your cheek. "…to critic and to flatterer stopped are."

He shifts slightly, leaning into you a little more as he kisses the tip of your nose. "Mark how with my neglect I do dispense…." His fingertips rest on the curve of your cheek as his eyes finally meet yours.

His eyes.

He pauses, his breath hitching slightly. "You are so strongly in my purpose bred…." His voice lowering to a near-whisper. "…that all the world besides methinks are dead."

You don't realize how labored your breathing is until he falls silent, simply gazing into your eyes with a look that goes beyond anything that could be articulated, the honesty of his heart surrounding you with near-frightening intensity. The slightest hint of a whimper sneaks out of you as you exhale.

"My love," he whispers. His fingers slide down your cheek, his head tilting slightly to the side….his lips brushing against yours. And then he slides into the kiss your lips have been yearning for in his absence.

He moans quietly and sweetly into your mouth as you open yourself to him….your body, your mind, your heart. You slide your fingers around the back of his neck, your other hand cupping his cheek. And then the realization hits you that you are not an independent woman.

You need him.

You always will.

Your body begins to tremble with an arduous desire so deep you fear you may actually weep. And, in fact, when his lips languidly leave yours and you open your eyes, his face is a blur through the tears pooling under your eyelids.

He coos your name as one tiny tear slides across your temple and into your hair. Another tender kiss overtakes you, and you lose yourself in him. You forget all your pouting, all your angst for being missed by the floral deliveryman, and relish in the sensation of that acute, sweet shudder that makes breathing your greatest challenge.

Suddenly Obi-Wan's head pops up, a silly grin covering his face. "I have a gift for you." He reaches around behind him and summons his belt to his outstretched hand, an action that always astounds you no matter how often you witness it.

"You didn't have to get me anything."

His only response is that same grin. He sits up on the bed, pulling you up to sit as well. He opens one of the pouches in his belt and removes a small, square, gold foil box. He hands the tiny box to you, and you take it into your palm. You've seen this kind of box before. You know what this means. You carefully lift off the lid and gasp when you see the beauty inside. You tentatively reach in with two fingers and lift out

the exquisite creation. "This is amazing," you say. "It's perfect." You lean forward and kiss him, still holding the gift between your fingers….and suddenly drop it onto your leg. "Oops," you laugh.

"I had a long layover, I'm afraid," Obi-Wan says. "It's been in my belt for several hours."

"I'm surprised you didn't eat it," you say, as you pick it up in your fingers again.

"Eat it?" he asks, confusion written all over his face. "And miss the opportunity to do this?" He takes it from you and holds it between his own fingers. And then he raises your hand to his mouth and slowly licks and sucks the melted, gooey dark chocolate off your index finger and thumb. "Or this?" He bends down and runs his tongue through the chocolate tracks on your leg. You giggle as he nibbles softly on your skin. Then he sits up and says, "I'll have you know that this was the last monstrous dark chocolate truffle to be found in ANY candy store on ANY planet in the galaxy."

You laugh, retrieving the slippery chocolate treat from him. You suck his index finger into your mouth, licking the chocolate off his rough skin. He chokes quietly as you look up at him. You sit back and smile at him sweetly.

"So…." He clears his throat and eyes your scantily clad form. "How long have you been hiding this from me?" Then he makes a dramatic movement of crawling in the direction of your closet. "And what else do you have hidden in there?" he asks in a loud voice.

You slap him playfully on the arm and stand up, still holding the truffle between your fingers. "I bought it the day after you told me you didn't like red. I thought, perhaps, I could change your mind."

Obi-Wan leans toward you on his hands and knees and kisses your stomach. "I believe you have," he purrs against your skin.

You back up a couple steps, and he looks up at you. "Get naked," you order.

"Yes, Master," he replies seductively.

You whap him on his ass again as he stands up from the bed. "I told you not to say that to me. I can't be having dirty thoughts every time you say that to Qui-Gon."

"Well, I don't say it to him like that," he defends, ripping his clothes off at lightning speed.

"I should hope not," you say.

He pauses long enough to give you a good, steady look. "Most definitely not." Then he discards the last of his clothing and stalks over to you. He moves in to kiss you.

"Lay down," you say before he can reach your lips.

"Yes, Mas-"

You mush his lips with your hand to shut him up. His tongue sneaks out to lick your palm as he lies down on his back. He lays perfectly still, your hand clamped over his mouth. Slowly, you lift your hand from his mouth, lightly caressing his lips with your fingers, causing his breath to catch.

"So beautiful," he says, suddenly in half-delirium again.

You simply smile and climb up onto the bed next to him, being careful not to drop the truffle that is quickly becoming rather gooey between your fingers. You sit down next to him, and then place the candy on his skin, on that delicious dip where hip meets thigh.

"What are you-"

"Shhh," you respond to his inquiry. You press the truffle against him, and a thick chocolate ooze pools in a dense puddle on his skin. You then pick up the treat and lean forward, placing it back into the box on your nightstand.

Obi-Wan watches every move you make. You look down at his chocolate-covered skin and then up at his eyes. Slowly, you lean down and lightly lap at the sweetness. His muscles twitch beneath your tongue, and you smile as his sex swells next to your cheek. You suck at the soft skin of his hip, cleaning off the chocolate and enjoying the quiet rumbling in his chest.

You stretch up slightly and then run your chocolate-coated fingers along the length of his erection. You look up at him, licking your lips. His lungs are panting now, his chest heaving rapidly, his neck straining to keep his head up so he can watch your actions.

You cradle his shaft in one hand and run your tongue along his length, cleaning up the chocolate as slowly and torturously as you can. His fingers claw into the mattress as you circle your tongue around the head of his penis, his restrained groans filling your ears.

Suddenly his desire hits you, the ravenous energy wrapping tightly around you and forcing the air from you lungs. It is a sensation that still startles you, its power unsettling and addictive at the same time.

He grunts as you cease your attentions to him. You quickly crawl to the head of the bed as he sits up. You straddle his legs as he scoots back against the headboard, your body trembling uncontrollably. You grab his head and hungrily taste his mouth, expressing your need with your tongue, your lips, the crush of your body against his.

Obi-Wan reaches around and unhooks your bra, pulling it quickly off your arms and tossing it aside. His hands grasp your back, pulling you to him. You moan and arch into his body as his mouth explores your breasts, deep growls spilling out of him as he breathes heavily against your skin.

Your body melts into him, and your hunger builds. You reach down to push your underwear off your hips. Obi-Wan's hands grasp tightly around your waist, lifting your body straight up. You shift back and forth quickly until you are able to shed the satin from your body. His hand captures the back of your head and pulls you into another kiss, his tongue gilding past yours and teasing the roof of your mouth.

You whimper against his lips as you feel his rigid flesh sliding across your wet center. "Need you," you whisper, a tiny squeak in your voice. "Please."

In an instant, he pulls your hips to him, and you gloriously slide down his length, your tight wetness consuming him as he groans your name. His fingers reflexively grasp your hips, and you feel the electricity that courses through him.

And finally, you and he are one. You sit motionless, his sex buried deep within you, your tongues swirling around each other as you sink deeper and deeper into your kiss. Both of your bodies begin to tremble with rampant need, until you have no choice but to move, his hips pushing up first. You anchor your knees into the mattress and begin the slow rise and fall, barely able to control your rhythm, needing more and more with each sweep of his cock along the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you, your pleasure rapidly coiling, liquid desire swirling around his shaft.

His legs suddenly bend, his knees bracing your back, his feet planting on the mattress and giving him leverage to push his hips up. You grab his shoulders and rise up on your knees, riding his rhythm and spreading your legs wider to take him deeper.

"Oh gods, love," he sighs as you moan, leaning your head back and angling your hips to rub your clit along his rigid cock.

And then he undoes you, sliding his fingers in between your legs, stroking your swollen nub in time with his thrusts. You cry out, digging your fingers into his tight shoulders, pushing yourself down on him to drive your pleasure out of you.

"Wait," he pleads, his voice a rough whisper. His hand grabs the back of your hair, pulling your head forward, and you become lost in his eyes. "Wait," he says again.

"I can't," you whimper, too ridiculously close to the edge to pull back. You close your eyes and bite your lip.

"Look at me," he growls.

Your eyes open, and you can feel him moving inside your mind.

"Hold it, love….just…..nnngghhh…." His own eyes squeeze shut and open again. "Stay like this."

A shaky moan falls out of your lungs as you waver on the edge, feeling his own struggle to keep control. His fingers continue to tease you, his hips continuing to thrust….and you linger on the brink, a desperate battle to hold on to this point of unbearable pleasure.

He moans to you, his entire visage taut and trembling. "I could stay like this forever."

You swallow hard, your entire body tense while you fight off the rapture. Your breath is shallow as he stares up at you, his face expressing such wonder…such love. "Please, baby…." you whine.

"Yes….yes…" he sighs. "Let go, love…."

You choke up a sob as his hips push you higher, his fingers slipping around your clit as he groans against your neck. And then you soar, rushing up into your shattering climax, clenching him fiercely with each delicious wave, and pulling his pleasure out of him. He calls your name, the hot rush of his orgasm spilling out of him and into you.

In a word, ecstasy. Light, heat, and love enrapture you, the joy and pleasure going on and on….

You collapse, your body unable to continue one moment longer. Your head falls to his shoulder as his arms wrap tightly around you, squeezing you firmly against his heated, sticky skin. Your breath is a high-pitched wheeze, your limbs shaking furiously.

His fingers stroke through your damp hair, his head turning to nuzzle your tresses. "How's my babydoll?" he purrs lovingly.

You sigh happily, turning your head to bury your face against his neck. "And I could stay like this forever," you say softly. "Except for the fact that I can't feel my legs."

His chuckle draws a lazy smile across your face. "Well, let's do something about that," he says. He moves slowly and smoothly until you are gently laid on your back.

You pleasantly stretch your legs, shaking your feet to banish the numbness.

"I know just the cure for that," he says.

"Oh?"

Obi-Wan reaches toward the nightstand and returns with the blessed chocolate truffle. He smiles and holds it to your lips. You open your mouth and take a small bite of the delectably sinful indulgence. "Mmmmmhhhhh," you moan softly as the smooth, dark chocolate melts on your tongue.

"Well," Obi-Wan says, raising his eyebrows and reaching behind him to place the chocolate back on the nightstand. "My turn," he purrs, hovering over you and then descending to kiss you gently, slipping his tongue inside your mouth as you share the confection with him.

Savoring it just to the point where you will cross the line into never breathing again, he slowly breaks the kiss and nuzzles your cheek with his nose. "So basically, Valentine's Day is all about pretty little red articles, poetry, and chocolate."

You nod slowly. "Yeah. Lingerie, pillow talk, chocolate, and sex. That's about it."

His fingertips lightly caress your cheek. "And love."

"And love," you quietly affirm.

He kisses you tenderly and rests his head next to yours, cuddling up to your body as it forms to his. "Sleep well."

"And you."

"By the way," he says.

"Yes?"

"What are communists?"

You chuckle softly. "Long story."

"Mmm," he replies, his breath tickling your neck as his arm pulls you closer to him, his knees rising up under your own. Your world narrows down to this place, in this moment….and suddenly, the most important universal truths are abundantly clear.

Love matters more than anything money can buy.

And Shakespeare rocks.