It's Nice talking

It was right to count the days, for they were always numbered. I kept the tallies close  so nothing was forgotten. It was wrong to count the days,  for that was just the beginning. I watched the balance drain  of things I cannot reclaim. The words used to match the actions. Until rare are the words, sparse are the deeds Until the pattern broke Then silence became louder The system was flawless, bravo! Calculated without fear, unapologetic. I'm speechless with the craft. So I count the days from here.  I have derived my own equation.  Not a calculation, perhaps, a retribution.

I have this habit of playing music while I work. Then, a Forest Blakk song called "If You Love Her" started playing in the background. I've heard this song more times than I can count. It's even on my Spotify playlist. But every single time I hear it, it tugs at my heartstrings. Right to the core. It's as if Forest Blakk wrote it about me, and every time it comes on, I swear I could just cry. Kidding. The song goes like this: "She always has trouble falling asleep And she likes to cuddle while under the sheets She loves Pop songs and dancing, and bad trash TV There's still a few other things" Oh, that is so me. Trouble falling asleep? Check. Cuddling? Maybe. Pop songs? Absolutely. Dancing? Only when no one's watching. And bad trash TV? Guilty. I'll watch it all, no matter how ridiculous or predictable the plot gets. "She loves love notes and babies And likes giving gifts Has a hard time accepting A good compliment She loves her whole fam...