One week.

Just one.

The last weekend before touchdown.

But of course,
    there are rules.

*Terms & Conditions*:

    No drastic haircuts.

    No sudden new hobbies
    that could result in
         broken bones,
         burns,

         or questionable tattoos.

    We will both attempt
         to sleep normal hours.
         (We will fail.)
         (What _is_ normal?)

    I will not impulsively
    book an earlier flight.
                 (…Unless?)

                  (I mean.)

            (Probably Not.)

                   (Right?)

    You will not
    fall in love

    with some random restaurant
                     without me.

    (No "first times" alone.
     Only "together" ones.)

    We reserve the right
     to text excessively,
        call sporadically,

           and send memes
       that make no sense
    but feel important.

    Missing one another
           is mandatory.

    Complaining about it
             is optional—

    but highly recommended.

And finally—

*Disclaimer*:

Side effects of this weekend may include:
     (but are not limited to)

     impatience,
     butterflies,
     daydreaming,
     restlessness,

     and an overwhelming urge to time-travel.

But in seven days,
    all conditions expire—

    (And then—)

    the real adventure—
                       begins.