I wish it wasn’t cold. I wish it was a summer. I wish I could lay on the roof with you in a warmth that only two bodies pressed against each other for hours would know. I wish, I wish, I wish, but time only seems to change, leaves only seem to fade, and nights only begin to grow longer. Longer nights should mean more time spent arm-in-arm, but instead, they mean more time spent wondering about the what-ifs, should-Is, could-Is, and why-would-Is.