What is a year but 365 days of opportunity.

365 moments to love you, to know you, to want you.

What is a year but 365 days of torture.

365 moments to miss you, to hate you, to want you still.

It would’ve been a year at the beginning of November.

I can’t help but remember that.

But what is a year in the grand scheme of our lives?

Sometimes it’s everything.