How many times have I pulled up your number. To call you and tell you how much I love you. To reassure you that we are worth fighting for?
How many times have I begun writing you. Only to delete the only line I could manage. I had written that, “I am lost without you.”
How many times have I held you in lust and in love. Possessing your body, consuming the pleasures I want with you in particular?
How many times has my heart wept at my deficiencies. My stomach tighten with the shame of inadequacy. My eyes sleepless as I imagined us together?
How many times have I told you that you mean the world to me? How many times have I laid my life down for you?
‘How many times’ do not matter baby. Because until this instant let us pretend that I never have. I am unentitled, awake only to this instant.
‘How many times’ is a construct of ego. You are the reality I choose. Tangible or otherwise I choose to do all these many times over again.
