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