12 December 2012

I waited until 12: to visit that place on the bloody, bastarding, black-iced B1077. Ridiculous, really, marking all those twelves as if there was any significance to them, as if the only time I would think of you was limited to some never-to-be-repeated quirk of the diary. But that’s what I did today, Hen. Since we’re talking numbers, it’s been 1826 days, 43,824 hours (give or take – who cares?) and not for one of those 157,766,400 seconds have you not been here, right here in my heart, my head, my bones. With love to last for as long as forever is, boy, my boy.

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