455 days

by remembertoexhale

Sometimes when I think of you
I can’t stop it
the words come hurtling through my brain
like the light that used to stream from your bedroom door
when I made tea at 2:55am
and walked through the dark of the living room
to find you
almost asleep, jeans and all
the freckles on your nose
scrunching as you smiled sleepily

You used to tell me that the 
pattern of beauty spots on the inside of my left ankle
was a constellation

I told you that your entire face 
was a million constellations
and every time you smiled 
you burned brighter

It’s amazing how thirteen notes
nicely arranged on a couple of pages
have the capacity
to describe a conglomeration of feelings
one after the other
in a perfectly neat fashion

I admire composers
who are able to
pour out their heart
in the form of crotchets and minims
lines with rounded dots at the ends

If I had the capacity to compose
an instrumental
it would be 455 pages
of thirteen notes
for the 455 day story of me and you

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