Life and Death.

The one you consider dearest

has begun counting the days of his life. 

And our path is the slow trail toward forever

while we raise up the small replicas of ourselves into the world. 

And I am afraid.

That long number, hundreds of thousands of hours, 

364,296,

just to find you.

There is no guarantee beyond that toil.

I wish three hundred sixty-four thousand two hundred ninety-six years with you.

But maybe he will be dead before the age I will be when finally arriving to our

shared home,

shared bed,

shared short life.