If I could count the days left on my hand

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.