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
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016
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