I count the days. Silly, but true. Have not counted days in, well, ages. I don't know how this will end. Happy? Doubt it. My life has not exactly shown a happily ever after in its tumulous course. Would be nice, of course, but you can't blame even the most romantic of girls becoming a bit cynical after a while. It's the same story, always on repeat. Though this is a fifteen. Difference? I don't know. Things are always complicated, always intricate, always heartbreak. I count the days and wonder what he's thinking, alone in his room, reading those books and hopefully at least having me a little on his mind.

Only time will tell.