Damn this digital age of staying up until all hours of the night with work that has to be finished before the dawn, stalling by sending you an email and randomly checking my inbox to see that you replied precisely at 2:13 am, two minutes ago, and taking an odd sense of comfort in knowing you are awake at this moment, which somehow makes me feel closer to you. Then I look at her words and her delicate phrasings so familiar that I actually believe I wrote them myself and I confuse her for me and figure if we’re so alike then there should be no difference for you to hold me at night instead of her. But now it’s 3 am and you’re probably long asleep or at least in bed, while I’m still up finishing my portfolio and typing your name every other word and re-reading your two-line email until my eyes blur from the glare of the screen.