23 Days.

In 23 days,
I will see you leave on a plane.
And I will miss you,
incredibly.

But it's going to be fine.
Because you're going to have the most amazing time ever, and you're going to take pictures, and not wear brown pants.

And I'm going to hate walking home, and not having a lift.
But I'm going to spend that time getting fit, in anticipation for lifts (and becoming unfit again) when you get back.

I'm going to miss lunches,
and pretzels,
and AC/DC in the car.
And I'm going to miss skipping Maths,
and just cuddling you.


I already miss you,
and I'm awfully scared that it's all going to change.

But I hope it won't,
and I hope when you get off that plane you come and give me the biggest squeezy hug in the world,
and tell you love me.