Fifty-eight. Remember,

it was before February
and you would hear other people say things,
lovely things or aching things,
and they'd all make the right sort of sense
as they tied themselves around your throat.
Truths such as, "The heart wants
what the heart wants," and
"You are the reason that I'm losing sleep."
Winter can be quite deadening
and there were reasons to be careful,
reasons not to be careful, and figuring out
where to put the line down was tricky business.
Remember, when the body was there
but you weren't allowed to touch it.
It shook you awake, wanting something again,
as selfish as it was. "I would like
to kiss you." Then you got what you wanted
and weren't sure if you deserved it.
One day you ask him to leave with you,
and he says no. You weren't sure
if you deserved that either.
So instead of leaving town, you put the sides
of your shoes together, but something
still didn't make sense. You tried other movements.
Switched sides of the bed. Hung new curtains.
By July, you were arranging the silverware
in the drawer every other day.
"I'm afraid it's time for goodbye again."