The Year. The Whole Year.
I hate finals week. Such stress!!!
I sit myself down with a giant bowl of queso and a glass of water, and say, "go. study."
But 'tis all in vain.
I don't understand what this torture is, this, finals?
What are they thinking? Shredding our brains into little bits of flotsom and forcing us to just try and remember something.
And all I can think is:
The year. The whole year.
And I'm not talking academics. No sir.
And those words so long ago that I used to relish and read and run over my tongue like they were part of my saliva. And oh, how I cherished them! Those words, so sad, so perfect. And oh, how I miss them,
'Cos here I am now, with my own words, my own year. The whole year. The whole damn year that was so long and so full of stories and journal entries and heartbreak and pain and just... just sentences!
And all the things I can compare to now, oh! If she only knew! 'Cos I know we'd look at the year (the whole year) together and share and cry and just... just know how it feels to have a year.
'Cos there's been this year. This whole year. And not one bit of it has been told, not one bit has unfolded completely. I know its still coming.
There's still stories. There's still sentences. There's still words.
But not a word of it to relish.