Twelve hours.

That’s all.

Just half a day—
     nothing, really.

Except it’s twelve eternities,
     seven hundred twenty agonizing minutes,
     forty-three thousand,
     two hundred seconds—

     not that I'm counting.

I’ll spend them trapped
     in meetings that stretch
     until time forgets how to move.

Coffee cups drained,
  screens stared at.

Kevin asking questions I barely hear over the noise of waiting.

Meanwhile—
    every second
    drags its heels,
    checks its watch,
               yawns,
              pauses,
   maybe takes a nap,

   probably calls in sick.

The universe conspires.

Traffic multiplies.

Emails spawn like rabbits.

Lunch becomes a labyrinth.

My watch mocks me—
   ticks backward,

   laughs at my suffering.

It's impossible,
   insufferable,
   completely ridiculous—

   but then again, so am I.

And yet,
    I'll wait.
    I'll suffer.

    I'll (somehow) endure.

Because twelve hours of torture—
                     is nothing,

    compared to twelve *seconds*
                                with her.

And _in_ twelve hours…

I'll finally look into eyes that hold galaxies,
     hear a voice that sounds like coming home,
     and forget instantly—

     that time ever moved too slowly at all.

Until then,
     I'll be here—
     dramatic,
     impatient,

     and counting every…
                        single…
                               second.