Three days, two hours and fifty-nine

How much do you exactly mean to me?
If I could, I'd weigh this with no parallax error,
and tell you exactly how much you mean to me.

It's as heavy as the moon, I'd like to say.
Like an astronaut, you make me feel
As light as a feather,
As calm as the air,
As free as my thoughts would let me be.

But like good things,
They come to an end.
Three days, two hours and fifty-nine*
And then you're no longer mine.


*refers to the longest period of time that was spent on the moon.

Was it real, or was it all in my head?

I woke up to light sounds of raindrops tapping my window, tempting me with the results of a clearer, balanced mind after a good long walk in it. Thank you, for being able to dissect the many components of this brain of mind throughout these years, and eventually figure out that I need some good washes in there. I would have sprung out of bed, gave my parents some awkwardly weird excuse to leave the house in this pouring rain - oh wait, do I even need to account for that over here? The light squeeze cut short my fleeting morning thoughts and no, wait, I need to talk about the squeeze.

It was warm - the comfortable kind of warm, 

the chocolate-marshmallow-drink kind of warm, 

Strangely, about this warmth, is its ability to recharge from mysterious, albeit ignominious resources that I'm not exactly comfortable with. But do I really have to go through that tedious thought process of the derivation of this particular warmth that I'm perpetually obsessed with? I don't, but I did. This warmth comes when I'm absolutely drained from all the demands of this life I'm leading.

the kind of warm that makes me fall in love over and over again  - but (i hate buts), the thing is, I can't specifically tell you how I feel, yet - I would like to think 'yet' is actually more comforting instead of the abrupt ending, but let's not head there.

I felt free.

But when I took a second blink, everything turned cold.

I guess this is it.