Anonymously Signed.

One and a half hours until Sunday, until tomorrow, until the day I am not prepared for comes like a summer shower and takes away the one thing I can always depend on when the rest of the world seems far from reach.

"Its not very long,
One Month? Not long at all."

At least thats what I continue to tell myself, repeating it, jamming this phrase into my skull, finally imprinting it over my feelings. Twenty-something nights without a single goodnight, a single I love you, without any sweet words to fill my melancholy heart. I know Im going to cry tomorrow when a boy, on a plane stationed in New York, heading towards Cuba calls me, and tells me that he will miss me, and the only form of communication will be looking at the Stars, and hoping the other is looking up and thinking of them as well.

I am always the one leaving, heading places and traveling. This time, its you, and I am the one watching you leave, watching it all unfold. I hate where Im standing, but Ill be here on July 26th, just the way you left me, except a whole month wiser.



I love you, that's all.