You claim that you're tired all the time... but I feel like you're just scared. Which is understandable. But you're a closed book that I just can't seem to open, and it frustrates me. Although, I find this part funny: I like it. It's new.
Time spent together with awkward silences; but beautiful sensations. Memories made, that will always be remembered, but can so easily be forgotten. And I find myself hoping each and everyday that this lasts just a little bit longer, because I'm so addicted to these foreign emotions that you give me. But sometimes, as satisfying as silence might be.. it can't serve as a replacement of your words completely. Because words are what get you to truly know someone, and I'm aching to finally get to know you. The real you. And I'm slowly getting tired of this what seems to be dragging on game of hide-and-go-seek.. but I guess that's just me being selfish. I don't mind taking the blame. And so this countdown begins... fourteen days without you. I feel so absolutely ridiculous, because that's nothing. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Twenty thousand, one hundred and eighty minutes. And I'm not even going to bother doing the math for seconds, because I'm already making myself appear creepy enough. Which I'm not... I'm just really going to miss you. And I don't mind getting made fun of or receiving evil stares for it. I really wish that you could realize how much you're beginning to mean to me.
And I'm terrified to find out whether this is going to be a good thing or not.
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