This is a haiku
to a girl called "h. n. b."
I love her a lot.
In other words, this person, you know who you are, totally saved my "gluteus maximus" tonight when I was having a heart attack over a Latin final which I still may fail. But certainly not for lack of trying from this one--her never-ending stream of support and encouragement (however distracted by AIM it may have been), allowed me to survive the long and arduous review sheet. I wish I had a small h. n. b. on my shoulder during the exam, not to give me the answers but rather to give me encouragement in the form of knuckle cracking, newspaper-wallet making, love. I'd simply need her to ask me to translate the sentence the way it "logically has to be translated", and I'd get an A, easy.
So go h. n. b., you know who you are. In my opinion, your initials should be in that locket rather than r. a. b. You're just that epic, you're a horcrux theif.
See you tomorrow. Avenue Adinahs for lunch?
Love,
Minelor
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