Seven days. 

Seven short days until you’re gone. 

Its getting harder to imagine going a day without you, never mind months. I’ve become terribly accustom to the touch of your hand, the taste of your lips, the smell of your shirts, and the look in your eyes.

Except, it isn’t terrible, I love it.

In fact, I love you. 

More than ever actually. And that’s why I can’t even begin to fathom getting by without you for half a year… possibly more. Now that I think of it, most likely more. You’re going to be getting back right around the time when I will be leaving for school. So, is there even a point? 

Yes. 

No?

Yes?

Yes.

I think… there has to be. This isn’t how things end, not for us at least.

Not after everything. 

But what am I supposed to do when your touch, voice, smell, your everything is so distant? How am I supposed to pretend that hearing from you once or twice a month for 6 months is okay? 

11,794 miles. 

38 days 8 hours. 

That is about as far as it can get.