Three Thousand, Six Hundred Seconds

Three thousand, six hundred seconds.

I’m watching the clock and waiting.

You said you’d be here.

Where are you?

There are only three thousand, four hundred, twenty-eight seconds left.

You’re running out of time.

You promised me.

Now, look. You have two thousand, nine hundred, fifty-four seconds to make it all the way over here.

I don’t think you’ll make it, but I’m praying that you will.

Yet, I don’t want to get my hopes up, so I’m telling myself that you won’t.

See? It isn’t going to happen. There are only two thousand, one hundred, twenty-three seconds left.

You’ll never make it in time.

Surely you’re still enjoying yourself in Paris.

With some other person.

Without me.

You probably missed your flight.

Probably on purpose.

We’re at one thousand, seven hundred, ninety-nine seconds now.

Even if you didn’t miss your flight, it probably got delayed and you probably didn’t mind.

I’m staring at my watch and I see that you only have eight hundred and two seconds left.

Why am I even caring so much about your return?

You probably couldn’t care any less about me.

This is unlike me-- obsessing over someone like this.

What happened to my strength?

Have I become dependant?

Have I become weak?

Certainly not!

I don’t care that there are only five hundred forty-six seconds left.

I’m not even counting anymore.

I’m going to stop looking at my watch.

I’m going to stop checking my phone.

I’m going to stop looking out of the window.

Because there are now only three hundred and ten seconds left.

And I know that you aren’t coming back.

You’ve forgotten about me.

I know you have.

Because there are two hundred, twenty-five seconds left.

You would never be late.

I’ve been sitting in the corner booth all this time.

The waitress keeps asking me what I want.

And I don’t tell her, because if I did, she’d say you weren’t on the menu.

Because you’re not.

And, quite frankly, I’ve lost my appetite anyway, so I may as well leave.

There are one hundred seconds left and I’m getting up.

I’m heading towards the door.

I never should have come.

My feet drag slowly due to my heavy heart, but I finally make it to the door.

I push it open, and I don’t want to, but I glance at my watch anyway, involuntarily calculating that there are only fifteen seconds left.

I stand outside, glancing down the bustling street.

I’m not looking for you.

I don’t care that there are five seconds left.

I don’t care that the time is up.

I don’t care that I hear someone rushing up behind me.

I don’t care until I hear your voice.

That’s when my heart leaps.

I knew you’d make it.

I knew you’d remember.

I knew it all along!

“Sorry I’m late!” you say, grasping my arm, “Please forgive me.”

“No need to apologize,” I smile, “You weren’t late. I was three thousand, six-hundred seconds early.”