Street Lights

I am sitting at the head of my bed, my feet resting on my side table just next to my half-drunk, room temperature, lemon ginger tea.
I am counting the lights outside my window.

You left almost an hour ago, for good this time.
And now I’m counting the seconds it takes for the street light at the corner to turn from green to yellow, from yellow to red, and from red back to green.
I count out loud.
The numbers drift in and out of my breath as I whisper to myself in the dark.
Not complete darkness, the streetlights I am counting offer dazed reflections through my window.
As my eyes glass over the lights gain focus and lose focus.
There are thirteen lights on the street to my right.
The one to my left only has eight.
I don’t count the lights illuminating the gas station on the corner across from me as I wouldn’t know which street to assign them to.
Through tall trees lining the backyard of my building, neon red letters of an unknown sign buzz through branches.
I cannot read what they say and yet I know they are calling me to them, seeking my attention through the leaves that block my view.

I pause my counting to lift the mug situated at my feet to my lips.
The flavor of the tea seems to have heightened in the absence of heat.
I can feel the ginger singing in my throat; the lemon not strong enough to silence its cohort.
After my sip, I hold the mug just in front of my face and resume my counting.
Green, to yellow, to red, then back to green.
There are fewer cars lined up at the red lights now.
Only three or four pass through every cycle.

My blinks begin last longer as my salt-crusted eyelashes graze my skin.
The lights are in a constant state of unfocus now.
I don’t stop counting.
Green, to yellow, to red, then back to green.
Green, to yellow, to red, then back to green.
Green, to yellow, to red.