You wake as the sunlight hits your face. Today is finally the day.
Your heart is racing, your hands are shaking, your palms are sweaty, your teeth are chattering and the hair on the back of your neck is probably the second hardest thing in the room right now.
You're sweating, it's gross. C'mon man. Get your shit together. Get up; get ready. It's a big day.
Teeth brushed, hair combed, face washed, body dressed, and balls shaved, you're fucking ready... right?
You get to school, park, and walk in. Four hours to prepare for something you've been rehearsing for over and over in your head all weekend.
Rehearse, prepare, repeat. It's gonna be perfect, it has to be. You have to make it perfect. So what are you gonna say?
You practiced for hours last night but there's no way you can say it to her the way you did your mirror. Think, fucker. Alright first you say hi, maybe hey or something cool like that... no.
Make her laugh! She's adorable. Adorable girls love to laugh. How do you make her laugh? A joke? Yeah, a joke.
She loves dumb jokes umm let's see. What did the pirate say on his 80th birthday? Aye matey...dammit max...that was terrible. Maybe you shouldn't try to make jokes...
You've got this. I mean you have time right? Look at the clock. 12?! You have twelve minutes. Okay. Okay just talk right? Ask her about her weekend. Yeah okay, four minutes. Two minutes.
30 seconds... five, four, three, two... Okay. Here you go. Make your day; make her day.
Make her feel the way you feel, make her smile, make her want to be with you every minute of every fucking day.
You get to the blackbox you haven't yet learned to call home, you walk down the steps, you get to your seat, and you wait.
Every word you're going to say to her is stained onto the tip of your tongue like every lyric of every Maroon 5 song you've ever heard.
It's fitting; the place where you pour your heart out onstage will be the place where you pour your heart out to her. She walks in, you settle down. Your heart mimics the tick of a broken clock.
It's time. She walks down the steps and up to you. She's been crying. She looks at you and says, "I'm moving." You look at her.
You know you can't let her see you cry; every word you had ready has magically faded and you're left standing there. "It's okay," you say.
You take off your turtle bracelet that means more than the world to you, ask for her hand, put it around her wrist, and hug her. You hold her for what may be the last time.
You know that once you let go, you may never see her again. It takes a while, but you finally let go. She smiles at you. The distance in between you doesn't have to be filled with words.
She walks away. You both know it won't be the last time you see each other. Sit down. Be happy. God has a plan. He always does.