Most everything we did, we did too many times to count.
The kisses hello and kisses goodnight,
all-consuming hugs and kicks under the table.
The side glances you'd give me,
with that half smile
in response to a joke that was not good
and was probably mine.

I told you I loved you too many times to count.
All the nights out and all the nights in
under covers with a movie we would give up on
because I was asleep in your arms,
on your shoulder,
too many times to count.

You pressed your nose against mine too many times to count
so close that I'd look with only one eye at a time
and try to memorize your face
smiling in response to that very special smile you saved
for only when we were nose to nose
then wait not so patiently for you to kiss me.

I wish I had a tally
of all these nice things and nice words
to wrap up into nice memories
I could keep and count for years to come.
But I regret much more not counting the other things
of the not so nice nature
important things
that needed to be counted
and were not.

Like all those times you made me cry
for equally uncountable reasons,
reasons I can't remember clearly
but at the time sent a chill through my heart
ran through my nerves
got caught in a cold breath
so that I felt the absence of your love
the emptiness of where you told me it was.
I felt that hole too many times to count.

You left me for more interesting things too many times to count
so that I felt so alone
even though I was with you
disappointed that you had disappointed once again.
You, being you,
and me, being me,
being not each other and not close either
then crying again
realizing we would never be.

We went to bed angry too many times to count
and woke up forgetful every time after
because our problems could not be fixed
and we knew it would do us no good to look at them.

I thought about breaking up too many times to count
and clearly you did too,
because I can count the number of times we did, once.
Still, you broke my heart too many times to count
before, during, after our relationship,
picking up the pieces, the uncountable number of pieces,
and piecing myself back together
on just another occasion I would not bother counting.

I loved you in spite of everything too many times to count
Let my heart burn with quiet hope
hoping everything would be okay
even though it was never okay
and my heart was already cooked black
yet still, I could probably start counting now.

If only I had counted
then I would know how much I don't need you
then I would have some grand sum as proof
then I wouldn't have to count now

count the tears I still cry
count the nights I can't sleep
count the drinks I don't count to drink more

My heart falls silent after a fit of anguish and pain and desperation
watching the gears in my brain snap with the
incompatibility of reality and my now silent heart
Fallen flat. too tired to get back up

Take a deep breath inventory
Of yourself
Do not count your hands or feet
Not your wandering legs or
Wavering arms
Do not take inventory of your clothes
Not of your favorite shoes or
Your special hat—not even your
Coat that you save for those cold,
Cold nights
Ignore your car—payments or paid off
Your home—apartment, trailer, mansion
Your work uniform—whatever that may be

Make emergency stops only
You are still several miles from
The intersection of contentment and identity
And you have not been there
In far too long
Do not take inventory of how you look
In a summer dress or a tuxedo and bowtie
Don’t count your history with
Drugs and alcohol
Don’t count your computer, your television
Or that collection of movies
Or albums
Or books that you’ve been working on
Don’t take account of your ability to curl
Dead weight
It’s just curling dead weight
Don’t count the number of visible abs
You have
Or your BMI

You are so much more than a body
You are so much more than possessions
Your body and belongings have not
Done you well to feel like you belong

Instead take inventory of your joy
You have some joy don’t you?

Count your friends
Count your love letters
Count the moments when it rains
And you have an umbrella
Count the last time you had strawberries
Count the start of every kiss
Count the paid off credit cards
Actually, count those twice
Because freedom counts for twice as much
Account for all of your freedoms
Take inventory of playing catch with your dad
Your last home-cooked meal
Account for the last time you rode a bike
When you didn’t think about exercise, you just felt the wind
Count the times you wrapped birthday presents
Count the smell of the last bouquet of flowers you were given
Count the last time you went to the zoo
And you swore, nobody ever fell in love with the
Animals quite like you did
Cause you have an eye for beauty
And you’re seeing it everywhere
Take a deep breath inventory of the beauty you have seen

And when you can’t seem to find anything that matters
To take inventory of
Count those dark moments where you still
Have the hope to rack your brain
To try to find a memory where you had joy
If you still have hope to try to find it
That is joyful
All on its own
Because I know they can be hard to find sometimes
Those things worth taking inventory of
But I have found the greatest of these things is love
Not the way I love Pulp Fiction and Casablanca
But the way I love my wife
And my father and my mother
And a good rescue
Cause that is what I’ve had—a good rescue
And life is sweet like honey
Not because it’s easy
And certainly not because I feel good all the time
But because I have found joy in a rescued life that I can hope in
When I take a deep breath inventory
I have to realize all I have is love
The rest will go away someday
But not my hope and joy and love

count cuts
  count pills
   count tears
      count blades
        count frowns
         count calories
            count memories
               count blood drops

          count your blessings
         count memories        
        count recovery
       count smiles
      count meals
     count days
    count yes'
   count us