I used to call the days by their names.
I would hear them greet me, and I would call out their names.
But now, their names are but a blur. I don’t call them at all.
I just try to reach out with my hand, and hope that I’m not grasping at thin air.
I don’t call them out. I just listen now. They don’t come at once. They don’t come in the order that they used to. Or maybe I just mistake them for another. They just tell me to call them like I see them.
So some days, I greet the silent sun that’s marching on.
There were days that I called as four cups of coffee. Also known as the files that needed revisions.
There was one day that I forgot to name. So I called it the day after I overworked myself.
And there were days that I named after the sighs and the tears that I kept at bay. On those days, I tried to keep silent.
But there were also days that were drawn to me by my laughter. They heard it from miles away.
There were days that reminded me of the name of westerly winds.
But now, I think my days need no names from me. I let them be and they’re free to wander, till I lose sight of them.
I tell myself that I better start remembering the things that were worth doing on those days.
And maybe then, they’ll come back to me.