If I could count the days left on my hand,
it might set me free.
I wonder how much of the future
holds a life worth chasing.
I want to know if who I am now
is worth saving for what’s ahead.
I need to know.
If I could count the days left on my hand,
I’d question if my future is worth keeping.
I want to feel my fingers fall like dead leaves,
the future slipping through like sand
and leave only silence behind.