my eyes do not follow muscle memory the way my head sinks into your arms. soon sunrise will be the first witness to your departure, leaving the silk aching in the cold. i wake with all the familiar feelings at once - alone again, as clockwork resets itself.

so you told me to count sheep in my head, on my count:
"count...
count how many sleepless sighs we have exhaled in a week.
count...
count how many sleepy mornings we have taken for granted.
when you are taking count,
have we made it count?"