In five months, he will graduate and come visit, then go to his summer internship in California.
In eight months, he will be home in Boston for good.
I count the days, the nights, the space in the bed that would be his, the absence of him; I keep my silent constant tally. We say "Next year in Boston", but he missed this Arisia, will miss this birthday, this BARCC Walk, this Blogathon. We can't hit a pause button on the rest of the world.