It's 142 in the morning. I park. I decide to clean out my car a little because I have two free hands. Pull out some old love notes from Nikelle still in the car, three to be exact. I've grown accustomed to jogging to and from everything so I start running for the door. I walk in like its Monday evening at 5 and startle some guy on our couch that's not Chris. I'd freak out too if someone busted in the door in the middle of the night. Make my way back to the room not talking to the alarmed figure, chucking the garbage from the car, minus the notes. I walk in, Lance is asleep it hits me.
It's been four years. This is almost over.
I look down at the notes. Put them aside. And a tear rolls down my cheek. Maybe it's just late. Maybe it is, but maybe this is also real. Where did it all go? The four years, where did it go? Why do I want to redo so many things, but also leave them just the way they are?
I go into the bathroom do my normal routine hand wash, teeth, pee, hand wash, sleep.
In bed my mind thinks. I wish I could look at the four year calendar and map everything out. Immediately I imagine it, and placing each great event in order, fighting back a river of tears I drift to sleep.
