Days

It seems like that day once spent with you
Will happen for a second every day until the end

But I loathed the idea that you would become
A tradition to spend for relative eternity

You are not to be a number lost among the days
Eleven twenty-eight is not my burden

Birthdays make more sense to me that way
To mark the progression of our age
And you don't have to wait
You are conscious of nothing

Your mind is nothing but you are part of mine
You are in my today, my tomorrow, my steps onward

Remembrance of gain over reminiscence of loss
Why is it instinctual to cling so tightly?
To protect one from becoming a forgotten thought?
That kind of grip wrinkles and distorts

I said goodbye to you, my friend...
I am not going to hold on...
But I will meet you when you walk again...
And catch up on days between us passed...