I used to count on my fingertips,
All the days which we had spent together,
The numbers grew and grew,
And each month, I was so surprised by how many days,
We had spent talking to each other,
Then, at midnight on the 9th you would call me,
And we would talk, and talk,
And remember,
And plan,
And then you would yawn,
Tell me that you love me so much,
And say:
“Good night Goof, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,as always,
I love you so much, you mean the world to me.”
The smile on my face would be enough to put me to sleep,
The sweetness of your words swirling in my head like a lullaby.

Slowly, without warning, you began to slip away,
But I still counted the days,
And for every new day that I counted and fell more in love,
You slipped further and further from me,
And more into your new world you had built,
There was no place for me,
No matter how many times you denied it.

Two months after I lost the privilege of calling you mine,
I still sit here on the eve of the 9th,
Counting my fingertips,
Only this time,
I am not counting the days which we have been together,
I am counting the days that we have been apart,
And there are no smiles,
Only tears streaming down my face.
emw