There are 15 left.

In a moment it happened. Sitting on our bed at approximately 15 minutes to midnight we feel endless into a place. You are the face between the face. You are a factor of hope that divides us from each other. We are nothing without you.

There are 15 minutes left to go. Without saying anything at all we felt our fingers run across each others face. You have 12 freckles. You have 2 wrinkles around your mouth and your skin is as soft as it could be. The windows cracked a little bit. I can feel the warm summer nights breeze come sneaking in the room. Your cloths sit un floded in a pile on your orange chair. I hate thst stuipd chair. It reminds me of everything you never wanted to be but became anyway. Its the stories you tell. Its mostly the one about you hating this material world. About conforming to a less "trendy" situation. You are what you hate. That orange chair is everything you never want to be all wrapped up in a nice orange suit.