Thirty-six hours—
    stretched thin
    between now and the unknown.

Anxiety hums
    beneath the surface,
    a restless rhythm,
    felt by both of us.

    No longer unspoken, now out in the open—
        the anticipation,
        the excitement,
        the fear.

Last night,
    the earth quivered,
    not far from me—

    a tremor that whispered of fragility,
                            of anticipation.

Yet I slept through it,
    my thoughts tethered
    to the last words we exchanged

    before dreams claimed me.

In these final days,
    questions swirl
    like storm clouds:

    Will the laughter
        flow as easily
        as it does in text?

    Will the silences
        feel comfortable,
        or stretch too long?

But there’s also a quiet thrill—
     that spark again,
     something building,
     the magnetic pull…

     of two worlds about to collide.

The countdown ticks on—
    each moment a mix
    of eagerness,
    of second guesses.

    Standing here,
        on the edge of this cliff,
        together,
        knowing the leap is both terrifying and…
                                                necessary.

Three days—
    just enough time
    to keep wondering,

    holding on tightly to the hope—
        that what waits
        on the other side

        is worth every quake and quiver.