until

She is counting down the days. Counting them down, marking them off one by one with a big red x on the calendar. Each x hoists her upon its shoulders, bringing her one step closer to where he is. What a flimsy handful of papers tacked to the wall. Flimsy but powerful nonetheless; papers that dictate space and time, and most painfully, the spaces between times.

She does not have the heart to take down the calendar - surrender is unheard of to a longing heart. But nor does she have the heart to wait much longer. Absence brings agony matchless, unbearable for even the most steadfast of hearts.

The date reads a whirlpool of numbers and letters, distorted by magnifying glasses, coffee stains, and heartache. Tomorrow, yesterday, today, forever – what difference could it possibly make? A year might as well be a light-year. She reaches for the red marker lying motionless on her desk and marks off another day. It's all too familiar - the x, the wait, the distance between.

Lay yourself to sleep, dear. As her eyes shut and she enters a realm where time shackles none, another x embraces the fleeting day as it did the night before. A rush of blood to the head and to the heart, perhaps enough to pass the time.