There’s something about the smell of new black jeans on hot days that makes me want to fall in love.

But to be in love I would need time. Time for soft kisses and late lunches, time for long drives, sharing jackets, stargazing. Time for sweet poems and nights we don’t go home.

I don’t have time. I have a job to do, a degree to earn, a self to find. Projects to finish and a life to build. Parents to appease.

Still, when I struggle to sleep I imagine being loved. I imagine loving someone, someone different every time, just to avoid getting attached to any one imaginary lover.

It’s sad but it’s true.

I can trick myself, my parents and teachers, friends and cousins.

But I will never trick time.