counting.

Did I ever tell you,

That loving you was counting?

When we kiss, I count the number of heartbeats that transport oxygen from my lungs to my body parts, till I get to the number where I absolutely have to breathe again.

When you sleep, I count the number of times you shift to find a better position in my arms and I never get past zero.

I counted the number of times you told me you loved me. Four hundred and three times. Against my fifty three.

The number of times you looked at me and I saw gratitude in your eyes is thirteen.

You didn’t think I could ever love someone like you, you’ve said so sixty-eight times, did you know?

And sixty-eight equal times I laughed at how ridiculous the thought was.

The new number I’m counting now is three hundred and fifteen days since we haven’t spoken.

More specifically since you haven’t spoken to me.

Fifty-three calls you haven’t returned, a hundred and eleven messages you haven’t read.

And eight. Eight separate voices in my head screaming I should let you go.