As I tick off the days,
outlined in teal with a star marking
the last, I realize that
somehow, the chronology has been
wound tight, only recognizable
through shreds and small scenes;
nebulous journal entries.
Where did they go? I know nothing
of most of them, only the markings over
their numbers, tedious things that I am
gladly done with.
I was not living during those weeks.
I could have been somewhere else perhaps,
but not there.