Count

I used to count the years, the months The days, the hours The minutes, even the seconds Since the last time we spoke I remember the moment I looked Into your green eyes, Pupils expanding, The light shining down on you, Below your eyelashes—the prettiest glare Those eye contacts off-centered... Plastics never quite fit you, Just as I never did. . Hope has a funny way of fleeing Even when time ticks mercilessly on And truth is never beautiful When the mouth runs dry And the eyes go blind I used to count the years, the months, The days, the hours, The minutes, even the seconds…. You said, “You actually understand me. . .” And your intense amusement watered your eyes It wasn’t until I started counting that You stopped seeing me for who I was You stopped understanding. . . You never quite understood. My grave mistake was waiting For every last second To matter Was hoping, That every moment without you Would count forever But no one counts the tears No one counts the beats of a broken heart