Who is it that says most? which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew.
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to her subject lends not some small glory;
But she that writes of you, if she can tell
That you are you, so dignifies her story.
Let her but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear,
And such counterpart shall fame her wit,
Making her style admired everywhere.

They sat next to each other, almost touching knees but not looking at anything but the pages graced by the Bard's words.

He layed down on the floor of the bookstore and looked back at her with his sparkling brown eyes. Then he laughed and realized how undignified he was and sat up, shaking his head.

"I must be comfortable around you," he said.

She looked straight into his eyes and read the words he wasn't saying, speaking the words she couldn't say.

"Ditto," she said and broke the gaze between them.