3

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The first time I saw you,

everything in my head went quiet,

all of the compulsions, all of the obsessive urges, all of the racing thoughts that stole my breath,

        but

you stole my attention.

I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but one thing I never have

is quiet.

In class, I line up my pencils and pens on my desk,

like little lines of soldiers heading to war,

only

the war is within myself.

From the moment I wake up

I cannot function because

a drop of coffee from the

morning before has dried on the counter

and I didn't get a chance to touch the doorknob twice

before I left for school.

I lose my breath,

        but

you made it alright.

Since I met you,

I can turn off the lights once,

not 8 times,

which is my favorite number,

        but

my new favorite number is 3,

because that is how many freckles dot the corner of your mouth,

and that's how many seconds your sighs last,

and that's how many kisses you pressed against my mouth the first time I told you “I love you,”

        but

you are the only thing I want to count over and over.

I want to count everything about you,

because when you touch me

I don't need to wash my hands.

When we walk side by side,

I don't have to step twice in the same place.

Now all I think about is who else is kissing you

and I can't breathe because you're all I want.

I want you back so badly that

I'd turn my pencils and pens to an angle

I'd lock the door and walk away

I'd let the coffee drip from my spoon,

        but

You won't be back.

I won't count to 3.

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