Thirty weeks ago, I was struggling with my political science thesis. I was arguing against the science in the political, until you walked me through Statistics. You believed in me. I was never the same - with a margin of error of ±3%.

Thirty days ago, I had troubles keeping up with my patience. I’m not the greatest at handling pressure from multiple angles. I spike, I crack, I breakdance, and I fart with no excuse. But you were always there. With love. With understanding.

Thirty hours ago, we were talking about our all-important future, like how many boxes of nachos to buy and how many salsa dips to go with it. Or like how many hours per day we’ll allocate to cuddling, studying, or playing Plants vs Zombies. Or like how many times we’re allowed to press the alarm snooze before getting out of bed.

Thirty minutes ago, we agreed to sleep the night away and wake up to the first day of the rest of our lives.

I’ll see you at 3 PM today, Honey. Walk some thirty steps down the aisle for me. I’ll be waiting at the other end, with the promise to not let you take a single step alone again. No margin of errors. No farting at will. No snooze.

———————-