You count the days until you get to see them, the years, minutes and seconds you have with them
You count the freckles on her cheeks and the birthmarks on his back,
that now form an exact pattern, carefully calculated.
You count seconds, then you breathe
You count breaths, then you push
You count blessings, then you cry.
You count their little fingers, one, two, three. Their tiny fingers
You count them sheep, because they can’t remember what comes after 8
You count all the pieces of the puzzle to make sure nothing is missing
You count stars because you can’t see them all
and you count the stars in their eyes because you can see them all, more breathtaking than the universe.
You count their teeth and still tell them to smile
You count to three then the tchoo-tchoo train arrives
You count letters and numbers and teach them to use their fingers, their not so tiny little fingers anymore
You count dreams, but with time you lose count
You try not to count heartache, because the counting gets too hard
You count the pieces that were shattered and try to fit them back together
You don’t count grudges because there should only be a few.
You count the tears but they keep slipping through your fingers
You count the laughs, and recall them again and again.
You count your friends, until you realize that’s not what counts
and suddenly you start once again, counting but hardly remembering the days that pass by
You start counting the people that forcibly said goodbye
Life now reveals you wrinkles you still have to count,
At one point the counting shifts, They are now counting minutes and seconds they still have with you
Because somewhere along the way, you’ve run out of fingers.