It is 9:23 AM and I'm not doing my homework.
Instead I'm writing poetry, wearing your sweatshirt.
You just washed it, so it shouldn't smell like you but it does.
It doesn't smell like dryer sheets, it smells like mint. It smells vaguely earthy, like tea and coffee and nutmeg and all the other smells that I've come to associate with you.

It is 9:04 AM and two teachers come walking through the door. You hold out your hand, and I take it. I could kiss you, but instead we are cuddling with my head on your shoulder and your head on my head and our right hands clasped in a grip of love and your left hand in my hair and your lips against my head whispering 'i love you, grace' and I whisper it back, my lips barely moving because it doesn't take much effort to love you, so why should it take effort to tell you? Our hearts beat as one and we breathe together and it's so much more intimate than anything I've ever experienced. I gave up my purity years ago, and it wasn't even close to the intimacy of sitting here with you.

It is 8:50 AM and you tell me to lean on your shoulder. At first you're tense and unsure, but then you let yourself relax into me.

It is 8:45 and I walk towards you in the hallway. You turn me right around and whisper that we should go to the couch in the corner, where no one will find us.

It is 9:30 and I'm still wearing your sweatshirt and I could've gotten things done but I'm so lovestruck that all I can do is write run-on sentences that refuse to turn into prose.

It is 9:31 and I'm really bad at endings, so let's just never say goodbye.