He had it all written out, his finger hovering over the mouse to click send. But he sat back instead, slowly.
It was past midnight, and he knew he was tired, slightly incoherent. Why else would he be willing to type out years of restrained love and passion for her in an email? He'd held it back for so long, yet one long day at work, and here he was, willing to spill his guts!
So he left it for the morning. To re-read and make sure he was willing to send it.
Then a mouse ran over the keyboard.
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