It's 12:15, 12:20 according to my computer clock, 
which I did not, until recently, discover was set five minutes fast. 
Thanks memory, that was a good thing to forget. 
I believe that 12:15 calls for honesty especially when I have to work in less than eight hours. 

I am terrified about being velcro. 

I'm terrified that I found the kind of love that everyone talks about. 
The kind of love where you laugh together at the silly things, 
where please and thank you matter. 
And where your heart is worried because you wondering if they'll be safe driving your car out to a ward camp out in the middle of no where Payson. 
The person that you have tickle fights with and laugh, 
and cry because you realize you are so happy, 
 that all you want to do is whisper how much you love them. 
That for once in your life, 
you've found someone who reminds you that there is a certain happy in the world, 
a happiness that is silly and ridiculous and blissful. 
That you keep just falling in love with them every day, 
not all at once, 
and certainly not completely quite yet. 
It's a like velcro, 
both sides are different, 
but every day is reminder that life is better when you have each other, 
to hold onto, 
to be stuck too. 
And well, 
it's just all so confusing, 
and well I'm terrified. 
Because frankly, because I've never really been velcro. 
I've always been a shoelace, tied together, but not enough where it couldn't be undone without to much pain or effort. 

This velcro's scares me. 

12:29 - it calls for bedtime.
12:34 computer time.  

--But this is just another autobiography, examining the prosopography of me.
 By: Emma Marie.