He wrote me a poem once

The boy who leaves in January for LA

He wrote me a song once

The boy I don't want to say goodbye to.

We spent the day exploring a museum once

because I mentioned I had a thing for dinosaurs.

We acted in a skit he wrote once

because someone dropped out. 

He plays board games and doesn't mind losing occasionally

He juggles and rides bikes and flies kites and drops things sometimes

He listens and talks and writes frequently

He loves God passionately... always. 

His words matter. 

The experation date of his presence is real 

and constantly apporaching

The value of him steadily increases as the

deadline

endline

see you around sometime 

looms.