This is going to get complicated, fast. You have no idea who I am , truly, and nor do I want you to. your mentioning things like trying to make it work and getting half of a full and all these things that imply we are two halves of one piece, functioning with the sole purpose of fitting together. I am not that girl, the one you see on movies with her hair done up and mascaraed eyes, smeared lipliner but still looking like a prize; I don’t even think SHE is that girl. We’re all so young, we all have so much potential. What do when you see the future in a raindrop or a flower, or an offering, like breakfast in bed? How do you react when you’ve been in love for three days, two hours and 48 seconds, and nothing has ever felt this real? Scared, that is the prominent emotion, followed by fear, and later, lying in your arms with my head on your heart, love. Why sex is supposed to bind us together, I’ll never understand, because it tears me apart, emotionally. I have two days left, and two hours inside this haunted place before it begins again. I have two more hours and two more days and then two more halves of one whole until we’re pieced together again.