keeping score

He sung me songs about October, had a slight way about his wrist

and I couldn’t help but wonder what would come from all of this. I thought quietly in numbers and I strung them out to dry

I played games with all his wishes and taught him how try. I tried to make him see all the different ways that we could lie, beneath a hot October sky or freeze in mid July

it had been seven years and thirteen days since the last time I was in love with you. It would be thirteen more and seven score before I knew just what to do.

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