The Distance Between Days

The days keep piling up between us. 
It’s been more days than I know what to do with.  I keep looking at them, trying to hold them all in my hands but they keep falling out, spilling over. 

I scoop them up but there’s too many of them now. 
They don’t fit. 

I will sew a burlap sack to hold them all in, then. 
I will keep all the days between us in there and carry it on my back across the map until I reach your doorstep.

I will hold them out to you so you’ll see I never let go of any of them;
you were always in every single one of my days.

Do you still think of me?
Or am I but a distant memory that never took shape?

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