It's been three years and four months since you've since you took a plane out of here saying it was far too boring. How I wasn't enough for you, how I didn't make you feel alive anymore. Yes, it's been one thousand, two hundred and seventeen days since you packed up your things and jammed them into your car, along with my battered and scarred heart. It feels more like twenty nine thousand, two hundred and eighteen hours, longer sounding, you need to suck in just the right amount of air to say it all. We were quite close-knit, though you weren't around a lot. You were alway working, you told me your only true dream was making a difference in this world. I remember you saying how stressed you were, that cigarette dangling from your lip. I never said a word when you took everything out on me, your mouth a gun and your words bullets as you unloaded a clip into me. It's been one million seven hundred and fifty three thousand, one hundred and sixty two minutes since you left, longer than before, a mouthful. The numbers make you think, exactly how long has it been? It's been hell on earth having dreams about the good times between us but, I'm starting to have blissful nightmares about the bad and I'm not sure what's worse. Our love was like having kittens thrown at me. Sometimes I'd catch the soft, fluffy ball of heaven and other times their claws would rip into my skin, and the midnight tears in my flesh outweighed your tender morning kisses. The numbers will rise and eventually I'll forget your messy Sunday afternoon hair and the way you talked without the thought of consequence. I'll stop thinking about all the sweet nothings that you've told me and how another girl is hearing the same. It's been ninety four million- it's been a while.