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86 settIng the type At last, my crush on the letters of the alphabet gets physical. I reach for the e, the t, the f each in its own little compartment the ink staining my fingers. The w is more beautiful than I ever imagined. The capital H deserves its own sonnet. But I am careless. I drop them all. They splay out from my hands, ring as they hit the floor. I am lost without them. ...

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