That’s when I said it. That’s when I whispered to her, “I’m so sorry.” Because inside, I felt so happy and sad at the same time. Sad that it took me so long to get there. But happy that we got there together.

How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face?

But they were wrong. There was a reason.

He looks out into the empty street, allowing me to sit in his car and just miss her. To miss her each time I pull in a breath of air. To miss her with a heart that feels so cold by itself, but warm when thoughts of her flow through me.

The longer you wait, and this is true, the slower the hands will move.

Whenever I'm out late she makes a sandwich for my school lunch. I always protest and tell her not to, saying I'll make my own when I get home. But she likes it. She says it reminds her of when I was younger and needed her.

It's nothing. A school project. My go-to answer for anything. Staying out late? School project. Need extra money? School project.