SIXTY MINUTES EXACTLY

It's been raining for three days and you see her at a bus stop three hours away from your house. If her bus comes at 8:34 and yours comes at 9:15 then you'll both get to your homes by 10. If her bus comes at 9:15 and yours comes at 10:34 then why are you waiting for a bus in the rain? Please answer clearly, in full sentences.

Nineteen minutes were spent on this one question. He thought it was ridiculous when his doctor gave him the pad of cursive and laughed at how stupid the idea of circling yes and no's, writing down your feelings, and actually letting out what he had built up inside actually was. Explosions always turned out deadly, so why let the ticking time bomb go off so soon?

He gnawed away at his bottom lip, his hand still shaky. What was the doctor actually planning on doing with this information afterwards anyways? It wasn't like she magically was going to forgive him for all the fucked up nonsense he put her through. Especially forgive him for all the lies, like saying he didn't love her anymore when he clearly couldn't even breathe without her.

"I wanted to see her one more time," he pressed the ink into the paper, creating a dot at the end of his sentence. His eyes went back and forth widely, rereading what he had wrote, before scribbling it out. The etching sound of the paper being carved new black lines led the doctor to raise his head, only to return back to his own work. "I want to see her one more time," he rewrote, but yet again scribbled away.

The doctors old, leathery hand reached out and placed a new pen by his side. This didn't distract whatever he was doing though as he still continued to write the same sentence and mess it visibly all over again.

For the twelfth time, he began to write the same sentence, but the pen's ink went dull. He pressed it into the paper again, trying to revive it, but nothing. He sighed, placing it to his side, before picking up the new one and uncapping it. The paper below him now having what seemed to be a five year old's artwork sketched upon it.

Taking a deep breath, he finally began to really think about the question at hand. Would he wait in the rain for her? Of course. Would she even acknowledge him? Of cour-

His fingers cramped around the pen as he wrote the ink messily into the lines, making it eligible for only himself to actually comprehend. "I would wait in the rain for her. I would love to see her hair damp, pressed against her forehead as she had a grumpy pout upon her face and complained to someone on the phone about how the rain was ruining her mood. I would love to hear her laugh once more, her hand cupping her mouth as her body tilted forward. Her eyes would light up, just like they always did when she would smile, and they would tell me that she is okay. I would wait for the bus in the rain for me to know she is okay."

A tear slipped from his chin as he finished the sentence. He never really knew if she was okay after that night; she just kind of blocked him out of her life. He didn't blame her, not at all. If it was the other way around, he admitted to himself that he would do the same, but to see her one more time, to know she was actually okay, that's only something you can wish for so many times.

The back of his hand wiped away the trail that was down his cheek and continued.