Three. Or one.

I can stare out my window at the glory of nature, but I can't smell the fresh air from the inside. 

We have three more days, two of which we won't see each other, and tomorrow's taken up by a wedding. 

I have a bad feeling.

My gut tells me things. 

It mostly just tells me when I'm full and when I'm hungry. 

Either that or when I'm depressed. My gut has a way of telling me that something is off. 

It has a way of telling me that I screwed up. Or that I'm about to. And it's telling me that right now, as those numbers fly through my head. 

The stars are telling me that miscommunications are abundant this month. 

This much is evident. 

In fact it seems like there have been miscommunications over the past 456 days, 25 hours, 55 minutes and 35 seconds, if I recall correctly. 

Which I probably don't because I don't remember anything. 

I don't even remember to buy Flowers. 

I don't even remember to play dead. 

Or to play happy. 

But I'm getting better at that last one. 

My gut is telling me that the sweat on my palms is the tears of my hands, sobbing because they're so nervous to simply smile and wave. Grit my teeth and try not to wince. 

My gut is having a conversation with my voice box, telling it not to say anything to the eardrums that belong to the innocent man's body. 

But my gut sometimes has multiple personality disorder. 

It's also telling my voice box to yell. To scream. Telling my fists to clench up and fling itself in the direction of the throat that belongs to the not so innocent woman. 

It's telling my eyes to stop crying, because it was only 5 months. 

5 months isn't really that long. 

But in two hours, the wall I built for the other four 180 days, 23 hours, eighteen minutes, and approximately God knows how many seconds, because it was all a blur. And I don't know if that's because of my wet eyes, or the billions of thoughts running past the open shutters of my brain, it all just looked like a colorless blob, 

In two hours, that wall was torn down. Because my gut told my brain to relieve the guards of duty, because this one is special. 

Because this one makes you happy. 

And my gut was wrong. 

My gut isn't usually wrong, but when it is, it leaves my brain to do the thinking, and my brain overdoes his job. 

My brain likes to tell me that my lips are free to move, and my tongue to contort those words it's been dying to say. 

I wish my brain weren't so damn smart. 

I wish my gut would get it together again, and tell my brain to tell me what it's feeling this time. 

Because I don't want to relieve the guards of duty again, and have my gut be wrong. 

So gut, do me a favor. Speak to me. 

And not the kind of speaking you do when I'm hungry. 

The kind of speaking when you know there's something good lying ahead. Because I need it. We all need it. 

If you were dead or still alive, I don't care.

To be honest, I'm a liar. Just like you. 

You lied and you lied and you lied,

So I have no problem lying to you right now when I say that my feelings are different now. 

To be honest, I hope your mind tortures you, and that your nightmares are just as bad as mine. Because clearly this whole "pretend she's dead" thing isn't working out, because you keep popping up everywhere I look. 

My mind can't find a tight enough crawl space to where your black nightmarish goodnights can't seep into my skull.

To be honest I hope you burn in hell for talking to me tonight, and if you don't, I hope your heart does, because I don't care what you say, 

We will never be "friends," because the though if it makes me want to spit. 

We will never "mend" things because you're to ignorant to even think about someone other than yourself. 

And by "It's alright I'll survive."

I hope you mean that you want to die. That your ribcage can't bear the pressure of your sickened stomach, and that it's about to burst with the loudest "I'm sorries" and flow with the bluest of tears. 

I hope that by "goodnight" you mean that you might just regret what you did, and that the words of someone you don't even know pried your eyelids open to the bright world outside your thick and small skull. 

I hope my "who's this" even sparked the smallest of flames in your selfish little brain. 

And I hope you change. By God I hope you change. 

Gone

It's a long drive home, and it's even longer without you in the passenger seat. 

I just wish I could take it all back. That when we greeted time, and shook his hand, that we could turn it back just five seconds. 

We could have ruled the world by now, you and I. We could have built our house of paiper mâché, and used the paper with our story written down on it. 

We could have gotten that raven to sing together, to sing a song that only lovers can sing along to, a song that we all name our own. 

Out of these broken bones, and broken heart, I don't know who needs the wheelchair more. I don't even know what happened when the rubber hit the rocks. There was

 

so.

Much.

Fire.  

The fire coming from in front of my eyes was no match for the fire burning inside my chest as I watched your last breath leave you almost like a ghost. 

A river of salt poured from what you told me was your favorite part of me. 

And it seemed that my favorite part of you was gone. 

Time. And I'm choking up a bit.

Intro: tonight was a night I will hold dear to my heart, for it was a time when we could reminisce in the past. Also while reading this, maybe listen to "married life" from the movie "up."

Take me back. Take me back to last summer. Where in the words of ash, it was EPIC. 

For I miss it. No, I don't miss her, I miss the times. 

I miss not having a single thing to worry about. 

Then, we had nothing to fear, and every reason to smile. 

Now, we have time to fear, and less time to smile. 

Then, we spent nights up until 2, and spent the majority of our time in Mel's basement.

Now, we all work at 8, and we have an hour to sit and wish we had longer. 

Then, we had just graduated high school. We had our whole lives to do everything in the world. 

Now, we have less than a month, and we won't see each other for years.

Now, we're all slowly dwindling away, and we can't seem to make this one as good as last year. 

Oh how I'm going to miss Mel's laugh like the littlest elf. 

How I'm going to miss chance and Ashley being the couple we all knew would get married. 

How I'm going to miss never having to worry about being a wheel. 

...Except smeeg of course. 

Now, we've all moved away, and we all want to get married or leave on missions, and I just want to go to lagoon for our senior sluff day. I just want to fall asleep watching iron man 3 again. 

I just want to go boating on Utah lake one more time. 

I want to work with the good crew again. 

I want to not have to mend my heart-strings back together every time they fall apart when I walk into work. 

How I'm going to miss the busy-as-hell Friday nights with the fun-as-hell crew to push us through it. 

How im going to miss senior prom, and that trip to the aquarium. 

That senior dinner dance photo booth, where we all just went crazy. 

How I'll miss Carlos and Mel being so perfect. 

How I'll miss having friends. (Besides you, madi. I love you. 😊)

How I'll miss smeeg picking a wedgie in my basement, and everyone laughing hysterically. You will die with that written on your gravestone, sage. 

How I'll miss everyone complaining about my freezing pool, and sitting in front of the campfire. 

How I'll miss that camping trip. 

How I've missed that feeling of carelessness. 

How I've missed that feeling of... Not having to worry. 

Not having to worry about...

What happens next?

Not having to worry about...

Why is this happening?

Not having to worry about...

Not getting my "someday."

How I'll miss my best friends in the whole world. The skies are already looking so much more grey than they did last year, and they don't look like they'll change after the 25th. 

We have 24 more. 

Let's make them worth our time.