367: the number of days I missed you. The days filled with confusion, hope, pain and joy. The longest I've waited, just to have you for one vodka-fueled night. In the moment we were perfect. Happily intertwined, caught up in only each other. But the night ended, and we had to say goodbye. Now I want it again. Our little piece of forever, that I never thought I was going to get. Because how could we be happy together? I've thought about you every waking moment. How can I be expected to give up somebody like you? Nobody can make me feel the way that you do, and I don't even know if you care. I like to think that you do. You'll never read this, and that's fine. But when you think of me, when we finally part ways I don't want you to remember the things you wanted me for. I want you to remember how long it took for me to give up. How fiercely I loved you, even when I didn't dare to admit it. The way I would look at you, desperate for you to look at me the same way. I want you to think about me and remember what could have been, if we had met later, if I hadn't immediately given you all you wanted from me, if I lived closer. But they say that good things come to those who wait. I don't think that same rule is applicable here, but I'll give it my best shot for now, because if I can't be yours, I don't want to be anyone's.