Time is such a heavy concept, it falls like a rock but flies like a feather. The more you try to ignore it, the more it burns you; if you were to stare it in the eyes, you would likely go blind. What I'm trying to say is, I hate thinking that in less than 3 months, I won't have an excuse to see you everyday. That, in less than 90 days, they'll give me a piece a paper that is the key to the cage forbidding our distance. In less than 4,400 hours, I'll be packed and a couple hundred miles away. Of course, it'd only be 2,102,400 minutes until I dawn the cap and gown and am released into the world, but God only knows where you'll be and who you'll be with. So, in these last 7,776,000 seconds we have until they call our names and we walk the stage, I'm asking if it's worth it.

You are such a beautiful thing. Brighter than any star, stronger than any metal, softer than any heart... even though you try to convince me otherwise. Call me jealous and selfish, but the thought of you loving another makes my heart concave in a silent implosion. I think it's so very ironic that my heart decided to stop working not long after we said goodbye. It's like a small child that knows what it wants: your arms around me, your lips on mine, your smell on my clothes, your laughter in my ear, your beautiful brown eyes staring back into mine... and I wonder if it's been too long. And I wonder if 7,776,000 seconds is worth it.