Laying in bed, i’m counting the speckles on the ceiling, along with all the ways in which I lost her. There once was a time where I use to count the freckles on her body instead; ear, nose, neck, chest, even down to the little speckle in her one eye. They were my favorite thing about her, because they were one of the only things that managed to stay the same, while she was changing like Winter to Spring.
From hello, to lets go out, to I love you, to this is getting hard to handle, to I slept with somebody else, to good bye- I counted them as she walked away for the final time, all accounted for; the only things from the start that still remain.
I think I understand why they call them beauty marks now.