Counting Backwards

A missed opportunity is sometimes the hardest part of life, especially when it's with someone you love.

I used to count the days he was away.
Days I would spend wondering
Wondering why he left?
Wondering why the departure was with someone else.
Why didn’t he understand?
Why didn’t the right know about the left hand?
Why couldn’t he stay?
Why couldn’t I just… properly convey? ...

But days slowly turned into weeks.
Weeks got better
My friends and I enjoyed that summer weather.
Weeks in sand and sun.
Weeks with food and fun.
The weeks weren’t bad.
I could enjoy the weeks; just sad that we didn’t speak.

Weeks grew into months and months were good.
I made mistakes, but months were good.
I lived and learned many things in months.
In months I was on top.
Just me, I climbed and jumped and flew (whatever it took).
That’s how I knew I couldn’t be dropped.
In months I grew strong.
In months I picked iron up, built myself up, and picked someone up.
And in months I dropped someone off.

Months would soon glide into years
And years were really weird.
Years sent me back.
Years left notes on my car to be picked up and replaced.
Years sat me in front of a lake looking at its beauty and what surrounded it.
Years drew pictures of “Our Place” and the benches in it.
Years inspired me to perform piano and sing just right to see the delight in his eye.
Years cooked delicious meals from the heart (like works of art).
Years jolted me here.
Here, years I would spend wondering.
Wondering why he left.
Wondering why the departure was with someone else.
I couldn’t understand, I couldn’t comprehend
Why I always compared everything to him!
Why couldn’t he stay?
Why can’t I just… properly convey...
My love for him?
Why was I never comfortable enough to say… “I love you.”?

It was new to me and still it scared me. But I know why.
It’s gay.

But now it’s too late.
Years is too late.
Life has moved on and has closed my gate. 

The End

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