By a train track, we sit. I see but darkness and feel your hand on mine. I measure the time that has passed like this in seconds. Fourteen-thousand, four-hundred and forty. This makes the night bearable.

The cool breeze brushes by and washes over my skin. I imagine it rustling your hair because at that moment your hand leaves mine. Fourteen-thousand, five-hundred and three. I imagine that you spend an endless amount of time trying to fix what the wind has unraveled. You never did care for messes of any kind.

I don’t talk. It’s easy to underestimate the concentration it takes to keep counting. The moment I stop is the moment emotion takes over. It’s the instant where life begins. I want to experience all of you. The sad and rational reality in which you live.

You stay quiet as well.

Fourteen-thousand, seven-hundred and forty-three.

Soon I hear a sound. Very distant at first and then coming closer to us. The light floods our figures. The train crawls past, but in an instant it's gone again. Fourteen-thousand, nine-hundred and twenty-three.

I open my eyes, curious as to what has changed. I knew what had changed, almost definitely, but it was the kind of curiosity you can only feel at night. The kind that compels you to check to make sure there really are no monsters under the bed.

There, in front of me, sat empty glass bottles and unfinished books. You were nowhere to be found.

I stopped counting.