900 seconds

"You're crazy," she whispered, her arms wrapped around his chest in bed.

"The pot calling the kettle black," he replied.

I just hide it better, she thought to herself making sure he didn't hear what she thought. He twitched instead.

Throughout the night, they lie in bed entangled like branches dancing in Bellingham. For some reason when she's with him everything slows down, maybe because her touch on his bare skin makes him twitch.

"Electric shock," he giggles then the body subsides.

The fact that he's leaving for the other side, where the leaves fall in colour, is a constant reminder for her to soften smile. This way, she can hold every moment with him and not look forward into the future because there are days when the future seems so glum, so dark and gray like today's weather forecast.

When they're together, everything IS present; it's now; there's no other way but be inside this moment. She's learned this concept from all the self-help training she's mastered; The New Earth, Kabbalah, Landmark, Wayne Dyer, The Secret, every
12 step-program imaginable, and more she refuses to remember.

It all comes down to this: Presence. Forget what happens when he walks out that door when the trail of musk and bubble gum goes with him.

"I should go." #1. Not to fret, she's gonna propose 5 more minutes 3 more times which means an additional 900 seconds.