My estimate is thirty seconds. A friend of mine disagreed with that estimate. A few days at least, she said. But she doesn't know. She couldn't know. She hasn't seen, she hasn't heard, she hasn't felt or smelled the things I have.

Thirty seconds.

That's how long it would take. That's how much time I would have. Thirty seconds in which to say something or do something that could (re?)open that door. Maybe change everything for the better, for both of us.

The problem is, I don't know exactly when that narrow opportunity will present itself. I just know that it will. It's coming, sooner than later by my estimation. And, odds are, I won't be anywhere near where I'd need to be. Like right in front of her. That fact, of course, sucks.

Fuck, those thirty seconds could have come and gone while I was typing that last paragraph.

I'm not afraid to say or do whatever it takes. It's absolutely not a problem of fear. It's a problem of timing. Everything always boils down to timing. Too soon, and I'm an asshole. I'm every other guy on Earth, trying to take advantage of someone's sudden vulnerability.

Too late, and well, I'm too fucking late.

People tell me stuff. And when I say people I mean this one person. It's kind of a running and recurring theme of things that are wrong with me. A cacophony of criticism, if you will.

I don't say what's really on my mind. I don't say what I really want. I don't make myself vulnerable. I wait too long.

Maybe these are hints. I don't think so, though. I think that, at most, they're excuses. But exactly what they are is most definitely not relevant to this developing situation. To this looming opportunity.

I'm on edge. Waiting for those thirty seconds. Timing may prevent me from using this opportunity. But fear certainly will not. I will say what's really on my mind. I will say what I really want. I will make myself vulnerable.

I may end up waiting too long. But, if I do, it won't be by choice.

I must have spent ten minutes typing this entry.

I hope I'm not too late already.