Three minutes.
There are five days in a school week.
Eight hours each afternoon (after school) before sleep.
And I get three minutes.
It's true what they say about summer love:
that its fleeting, uncertain and over in a heart beat.
But while it lasts, it's pefection.
The strike of midnight nowhere near.
Well, summer's ended.
Perfection's gone.
It's three minutes to twelve.
It's all I've got.
Three minutes.
Is it even worth my time?
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