building up, I skipped past 400 bc Beowulf to 642-735 bc Bede and then was hung up on the word "irr--" I don't know how it ended. i asked where he found it. I was told it was his great-grandmother's. I knew I didn't deserve that. I was never that good a friend, never a lover, always that ulterior motive He asked if I had read the note he slipped amid the sketches and notes in old time cursive. I hadn't. On the tattered brown leather chairs he sat by me, as I read. I read all but a word of it, i couldn't make it out. But, in his eyes, I am a Woman who loves Words. and he couldn't be more right.