Counting

I’m still counting 

after 2 glasses of wine and 4 beers and a walk in the dark
I’m counting the amount of times my dog’s collar jingles and the moments 
the blinding bright face of the moon peeks from behind the clouds as if to remind me 
‘I’m still looking after you’

I’m counting every laugh ringing 
from a friend’s mouth and the amount of crinkles around their eyes 
as if they were the very gospel of what is true and what is not, 
and I’m counting the masses of texts that go unanswered - like it should matter what another voice says 
over the clarity of the song that’s in my heart. 

I’m counting the kisses and caresses that have been unwelcomed 
and charting a graph against the ones that matter. 
And, my word, they matter 
so 
much 
more, 
they make my heart swell and my knees melt and 

I know I’ve made mistakes and I’ve had regrets 
and I’ve scraped my knees on the bottom of a well, 
I’ve dragged fingernails against walls so high they’ve bled and bled. 
I’ve lost count of the teeth I’ve chipped, I’ve lost count of the hearts I’ve broken 
but I’ve made masterpieces out of the pulsing pain, 
I’ve fashioned works of art that speak volumes 
of the silence that consumed me in the dark 

and I’m still counting. 
I will count every blink. 
Every breath caught in my throat, every beat of my heart. 
I’m still counting 

every day 

until they’re gone for good.