I can count the amount of times that I’ve ever been truly lost on one hand. I always use my thumb and my little finger, because those are the odd ones out, so I feel bad for them. I use my right hand, because that’s always when you start counting over five, and my thumb is six, my little finger ten. That’s when I got lost. I can count the amount of times that I’m going to fall apart on one finger. One finger, but I have to count over both hands two and a half times first, because I’ll be twenty-five when it happens. I can count the amount of times that I’m going to steal crackers from the kitchen on two hands. No, not two, one and three quarters. The fourth quarter hasn’t arrived yet. I can count the amount of times that I’ll ever say I love you on three fingers. Three fingers, but you have to count over the other unnecessary seven first. I can count the times that I tore up a sheet of paper because of an olive, but I’d have to use my friends. I can count the amount of times that I’ll cry on one hand. Two fingers, again, just my thumb and little finger. Two of my I love yous will have tears and black gloves. I can count the amount of times that I’ll say goodbye on one hand. I always say goodbye. He never does. He says it hurts. He says he’s scared. He says goodbye means goodbye, goodbye is closing a door. Please, just say goodbye like I’m going to see you again, raggedy man. I can count the amount of times I told her that he never wants to say goodbye on one hand. She would just shake her head and flinch away. Her soul three tones of petrichor. I can’t count how many times I left. I can’t look through the glass. I can’t look into her matrix. I won’t. He knows, he counts, she counts, she cries. But I don’t know. I won’t count. I will only look back. I will only look back and ask myself, “Have I been lost this entire time?” The prompt: Write something with an anaphora or basic repetition.
I wrote this :3
