I remember the first day. 170 days before.
We were in our last year of high school; insolent, foolish children merely looking for a quick, easy way out of school, of homework and studies needed for a future. I realize that now, and I feel huge relief when I remind myself that I did get a hold of my teenage antics, of my rebellious attitude, and actually strived to take a hold of things, for it to change-the utter wreck that was my life. I strived with all of my will power-I strived to make up for the ridiculous, foolish behaviour I had adapted. My routine changed, because of you.
The brunet boy with the glasses in the back of the class.
You always were creative, and notes and drawings of worlds entirely different from ours always littered the pages in your notebook. I have always admired you in the simple form that is you. Because I never regretted falling in love with you.
You, in all of your perfect imperfections that are burdened in my brain. Your habits, your smile, your handwriting. The way your glasses would slip down your nose occasionally.
I didn't give you much attention before, and I am sure that you never gave me any in return. For what reason would you?
I was rebellious, moody, and bored. School was a bother. I struggled with it. I had always imagined that I was never (nor would ever be) smart enough to pass our final examinations.
Most of all, I was lonely. My parents viewed me as an outcast, and they never really talked to me. Oh, how I shoved it in their faces when I accomplished things that I was proud of. You would of been proud of me.
It hurts to remember it, my love, the days before I met you. The dark, lengthy, repetitive days that had me unwilling to move from my bed in the mornings.
I will always internally thank our English teacher for pairing us up for that lone assignment that changed our lives. When you finally snapped, your eyes boring into mine with fierce determination, and told me to go home, look at the paper and just think-to wrack my brain for an idea, at least.
For reasons unknown, I did just that.
I wracked my brain for hours on end, wanting, hoping, to impress you, to prove that I was more than a rebellious teenager that gave no thought to her future.
Then, I realized that my answers lay in my methods.
I didn't think. The ideas rushed into me, and I was scribbling furiously onto the paper that was once devoid of thoughts and words.
110 days before, I handed you the papers with a hope in the back of my mind that you might possibly consider using my ideas.
I sat in silence while your eyes, a captivating hazel, scanned my words, my rather scruffy handwriting filtering through your brain. You looked up, beyond the verge of words, and simply stared, your mouth agape.
I met your eyes, bit my lip, and voiced the nagging question.
You answered with a grin, and once the words slipped from your mouth, I felt...content. Relieved. Feelings I had forgotten to feel.
75 days before, you took me to a cafe, in the middle of winter when it was a blizzard outside and the Christmas lights lit up like the stars in an inky, night sky. I sipped my black coffee while you drank your latte, and we poured over ideas until the sun was setting, bowing down to the night sky and the stars.
You had complimented me in earnest about my talents (yes, I did scoff when you said that), and voiced the opinions that made my heart go ba-bump. Ever since then, I drink lattes, your taste, to be overwhelmed in everything about you.
50 days before, you told me.
It hit me like a bullet, a cold, unforgiving bullet meant to destroy, to cause pain and make a lump in your throat that would make you unable to speak. I'm sure you've felt it, whether it be heartbreak or loss (those two are quite similar.) It soared through my flesh and into my heart, leaving a hole there that could not be stitched, could not seal, could not heal.
We continued our assignment, sipping lattes in the little corner café, surrounded by notebooks, working around the situation. There were times when I'd forget, and it would be us again-we would be us, concentrating. And when I'd remember, I'd struggle to hold back the sharp intake of breath.
Slowly but surely, I realized.
With every passing day, I was falling in love with you. Something I would never of even considered before you walked into my life.
14 days before, you told me quietly that you could not see out of your left eye. 14 days before, terror overtook me and I blurted out that I loved you, before turning and fleeing away from you, leaving the mess that was my emotions and-more disturbingly-my thoughts.
You found me in the corner café, holding the notebook and two lattes. You sat down, took my hand, and confessed everything to me.
(I had never felt more trusted.)
7 days before, we handed in our assignment.
We sat down in the corner café. Sat in comfortable silence. I told you that I loved you, and you said nothing in reply, but I knew that you loved me too. The look in your eyes could not be anything else.
2 days before, you were admitted into hospital. It was quick and surprising, but I knew it as soon as you didn't show up at school.
Your grin, so playful and happy, never faded unless you thought that someone wasn't looking.
However, I was always looking, watching you, knowing that you wouldn't have much longer. You knew it too. That never fazed you, and you knew that I was strong, that I could manage- however unpleasant the situation was.
I held your hand and feared letting go.
One day before, we got our assignment results back. I rushed to your bedside, told you. You had grinned weakly at me, and I kissed you.
You kissed me back, our assignment sandwiched between us.
When there were no more days left to count, the assignment was all that kept me sane.
