in a nutshell

I’m scared to death of what will happen. I can already fast forward to the pivotal moment; a thin, crystal clear sheet of glass that will separate us. Like the prisoner and his visitor seated in the chamber, divided by something so transparent, yet so impossibly dense. Shackled by his crime, but brought to forgiveness by her love. Brought to redemption, another chance against reason, a blind benefit of the doubt. That’s what I gave him, and so far he’s done nothing but make me infinitely glad that I took the chance. But come June days and graduation, come the splintering of a million threads in the string of life, the scattering and uprooting of childhood to Lord knows where, what then?

In already knowing an end, is there a point? The worth of the journey relative to destination. Distance or farewell, all or nothing, blind trust or another abandoned what-if. I’m really struggling, and every passing moment I stay, I know I’m falling deeper and deeper. Flowing in unison with what feels like an irreversible current of what I never want to end. Won’t this just make it hurt more when goodbye comes? The longer I stay, the more potential pain I’m racking away in the warehouse of my heart. Filling every last corner, flooding every square foot put to optimal use, such are the charming days and moments spent with you in the trade-off.

I admit I’m young and all too far from understanding the true meaning of waiting. I don’t know what it takes to wait with all my heart, to trust with eyes sealed shut, but I do know what it feels like to miss. Missing, waiting, wishing - a league of three either strong enough to bridge the enemy of time or collapse under its slow torture.

And on your side, in your thoughts, I wonder if you think the same way. If you were to tell me that you would choose distance over farewell, I would surrender myself and commit in a heartbeat; it takes two to trek the distance. But my fear is that you’d only choose so because it’s what you think I want to hear. And that is, by far, the ultimate misunderstanding nightmare, a manifesto of self-sacrifice at the hand of self-preservation. I’ve never felt this way before, been put in a situation like this, or even felt compelled to contemplate in such lengths at so early a time. But you make me feel this way, you put me in this situation, and you compel me to contemplate lengths translating to the future.

Such foreign a feeling goes not well with first times. Then again, there never were any easy first times. Tick tock, so goes the clock. The rush of love, the approach of the countdown. Brace yourself, Tiffany, for in 3, 2, 1 …