One.
The texture of saliva coating the rubber piece held within my mouth.
Two.
The dim glow of its end in the darkness as I pull it from my lips to examine it.
Three.
The quiet whirr of an xbox that should be completely off, but doesn't seem to be doing what it should.
Four.
The sound of quiet scratching as the cord of the phone charger scrapes against the decal on the front of my shirt.
Five.
The rush of cold, stinging air in my nostrils as I take a deep breath in, expanding my chest.
Six.
The soreness felt in my fingertips from gripping my phone too awkwardly.
Seven.
The thought of eating cereal.
Eight.
The itch on the back of my head from my hair still being damp.
Nine.
The dryness at the roof of my mouth.
Ten.
The thought of you.
Of how I hope I won't scare you away.
Of how I love you.
Of how I wish we were holding one another.
