I know that the four were separated for two years, not one. There is no song to my knowledge that say "one million…". This story is also being told by a character that I made up and is the Circle. I have not posted her story yet, but this will not ruin anything. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I am Tamora Pierce the best author in the world (I wish I was though!). I am also not Jonathon Larson, a really great guy but died before his show opened on Broadway (sob, sob).
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear, five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. How do you measure, measure a year?
It's been two years since we've seen each other. Some days, it passed fast. Other days, it took a year just to eat breakfast. How could so much time have passed?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee, in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife, in five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.
It's impossible to measure everything we did alone. Hoping, praying for each other. Looking and trying to mind speak even though the distance was too far.
How do you measure a year in the life? How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love. Seasons of love, seasons of love.
Our love for each other knew no distance. Some days, I felt that I could hear them. See them talking and joking around with new people. Later, I realized that they moved on, they didn't listen for me as I had done for them. I was so lonely without them. Still, I sensed their love and kept listening for them.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan, five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.
We've probably gone on hundred of journeys alone. We've probably learned new things about ourselves. I can't think of anything I've learned. Maybe they'll be able to see the changes. Maybe I'll see their changes.
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man? In truths that she learned or in times that he cried, in bridges he burned or the way that she died.
I wonder if Briar learned how to be proper, if he grew up. I wonder in Daja learned to express herself and not burn so many people when she's angry. I wonder if Sandry learned to be noble, but up to a point. I wonder if Tris learned to relax and not kill everyone who annoys, if she learned to control her temper.
It's time now to sing out, though the story never ends. Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends.
We've been together so long. We're no longer children, we're adults. We started out as friends and became brother and sisters. Is that bond strong enough to keep us together?
Remember the love, remember the love, remember the love, measure in love. Seasons of love, seasons of love.
We may have changed, but we are still the same. Sandry will be Sandry, Briar will be Briar, Tris will be Tris, and Daja will be Daja. I guess I will still be myself, even though I have blood on my hands. I hope our family bond will be enough to hold us together. If not, maybe our love will hold together. Love is unbreakable. It does not know distance. Hope is like that also. I hope it will be enough.