I count.

I desire to dream my own dream.

I feel like I am trying to piece my soul back together.

I wish I could blame someone else for tearing it into a dozen pieces,

But it's my own doing.

Instead I close my eyes, trying to find a way to extoll a lesson to you.

I'm culturally inclined to subdue my own soul.

Hold that thought...

I'm remiss in my musings.

Back to step one.

Starting back at the begining again.

Now what do I do?

Oh yes... I wait and I count.

I count the empty spaces between us.

I count the lies that float in the air like clouds ready to pour rain.

I lose track of how many breaths I take.

in between pauses of all I want to say,

and all that I can't.

I count the moments we sit and stare hoping the other will break

and say whatever it is that will crush this dying dream.

I count the ways my soul bashes itself against the glass door, trying to be free.

Free myself into the cool air and float up like a bubble in sunlight.

So ready to pop.