One week, she told me, he's staying for one week only. I still have plenty of time. I was promised three turns of the clock, and she'll make sure I'll get, at the very least, that.
I want more time. I need it. All this remembering and writing and having you so, so close to my heart is more than I can take. I'm blubbering like an idiot most times-can you imagine that? Me! Sobbing my heart out!
Would you still love me? This shell of a person?
I don't think I do. I hate this version of myself.
Useless. Helpless. Clueless.