I count each tick of the clock.

I count each second, each minute, each infinite-feeling moment between the fleeting touch of your skin.

My life is stretches of emptyness and cold punctuated by the white-hot brief flame of being with you.

It's deafening, hollow silences briefly broken by the bell of your voice.

Long restless slumber, and all too-short wakefullness.

I count each instant without you.