Three Hundred & Sixty-five.That is the number of days that will have to pass before I even begin to believe that you're not coming back.
It's that simple.
You can pull all the dramatic antics you care to. I have virtual smelling salts! :D
Here too is a reminder of *my* sonnet.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.