She eased to the ground with a sigh
the last breath she would exhale
her essence released to the sky
a thought grasped her mind in those final seconds
a hope that she had done enough,
helped enough, given enough
reached out
to her friends, children,
to people she had encountered in her life
all those moments flashed across her fading eyes
knowing that those things mattered
that in the final tally
they counted
I counted on you to be ted when you said you would but you failed me yet again.the failure is all mines as you’ve failed me before thus this time shame on me. i counted on myself to lose count as i usually do when love is the wager. i count me out.
Today I counted the stars with the love of my life. I just counted the beauty in everything. I just kept counting. I counted the freckles on your shoulder, I counted the number of times you twitched as you fell asleep on the ground as we laid there, just counting stars.
I counted in my head. One, two, three, “BAM!” One, two, three, “BAM!” One, two, three, “STOP!” I shouted. My brother turned around, stared at me, and rested the bat on top of his shoulder. “Why’d you stop me stop for?”
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. This was it: what he had been preparing for all these months.He would finally do something that was worthwhile, something that counted. Steeling his resolve, he walked through the doorway.
There should have been eighteen sandwiches. I counted them several times before we went on the picnic. Now I had a sulking and sobbing nephew while the rest of my family chowed down on their mayonnaise-clotted treats because everyone related to me seemed to like mayonnaise except for me.
“C’mon, Scott,” I tried to reassure him, taking his hand. “I’ll grab you a doughnut or something from the bakery nearby.”
counted clown. plastic clicky thing with the balls strikes and fouls. white plastic tacks, like little crowns. spinning numbers. jealous. I want that clicker. I want that clicker to say something other than one two three strikes.
I counted this number over and over. I calculated it in different ways to make sure it was right. People can skip a number or two when counting, right?
It was nothing more than three little words she heard shortly before she fell asleep, but those counted for a thousand more who hadn’t been said yet. She woke up rather confused whether it had been a dream or not, but the expression he had on his face when she stumbled to the kitchen wearing nothing but his clothes that barely reached her mid-thigh, she was sure -he had indeed said it, and meant every single one of them.
Sighing, he stood up. His minutes were counted and he knew it. They would bomb the street, even though it was called Heaven. None of that mattered to them. The nightmares growled at him and the storm joined them. Then he heard the bang.
I counted the tiles as I stepped past them knowing they would always have a background. I knew the order of the cars in the parking lot from the window I stared out of; holding back tears. I counted the moments I would record later and I counted what they would mean to me if I could ever look back.
i counted. i counted the times our skin touched. i counted how many times you said you loved me. 5. i counted how many times you said you’d never leave. i counted and counted. waiting.
Counted. You once counted. Now you don’t. You are in the past. Accounted for. Now it’s time for someone else to be counted. The good news: who do you think does the counting? Now it’s your turn. To count those who count. Not easy, is it? A bit too powerful? You wish you could go back? But the power may go to your head.
Stand up and be counted. Who counts? That really depends on where you are and who is involved. Stand up and be counted. By whom? Who counts for you? Why? Are you a counting snob too? Perhaps we all are. Everyone should count with us, not too much as R. Kipling would say. But as Orwell would say, some will count more than others.
1. The child counted all the marbles and put different colors in separate bags.
2. The cashier counted all the money before closing the shop at night.
3. He counted his chickens before they were hatched.
4. The children counted from 1-10 along with the teacher.
5. The stars cannot be counted because they are infinite.
6. The child counted all the blocks and put different shapes in separate boxes.
7. The manager counted the cash in the office and locked the office.
8. They counted the number of items in the bill and checked if they were correct.
9. The traveler counted whether all his bags had arrived at the baggage carousel.
10.My teacher counted the total marks scored by each of the students in her class.
They used to mean so much to him. He’d counted them over the years; since his fingers were tiny, covered in spit, until now when they shook because he couldn’t control them anymore. How had everything else slipped away?
I would love to feel counted. Counted in my family with my mother, at the rink with what I do with the shows and programs. Counted in life. At work. Everything. I just feel like I’m always pushed aside, never really seen in the side lines. It sucks.
To be counted in life. That would be amazing to actually have.
there is a sesamee street caractor name the count that likes to count. i dont think counting is really all that fun. unless your counting something like… dinosaurs which i dont know how you would do that sense there extinct and all
A girl paced back and forth on the worn wood floor. Her golden-brown hair bounced slightly with each step. She had light brown eyes that almost matched her hair, eyes that stared blankly at the ceiling glossy with unshed tears. She focused on the ceiling, concentrating hard as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered. As she paced she counted under her breath. Step “one,” step “two,” step “three.” But still she could not block out the voices that drifted from below her.
“One, two, three, four, five six, seven,” I counted to myself. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” I counted again. I am a perfectionist. All my spices are alphabetized on their shelves and I never keep an odd number of anything. But I only have seven packages here. Someone has stolen some pretzels.
I counted on him being there on time as I wanted to make sure all the plans were in place. I check with the Telweb and it confirmed that he was still more than 30 km away. I had time to look around. Walking around the mall I noticed people.
I wish to be counted as useful, needed, helpful. Not the center of the universe, or the life of the party, or someone you carve in stone. But counted as useful to my family, friends, coworkers, and the planet.
I wish to be counted as useful. Counted as needed, counted as one who can be counted on. I don’t want to be the most valuable, or critical — just needed and useful.
don’t hatched your counts before they chicken. i was expecting you here at 9, and what is it now? 10:30? jesus brit, you just can’t be counted on. very disappointing, very much so.
I thought I was the one who counted. I was wrong. I don’t count, never have, never will. I cared too much, when I should have remembered that caring is not an advantage.
I hadn’t counted on this. Who would? No one, of course. I had not counted on sitting for days with an ice pack on my knee, my senses numbed by pain pills, able to hobble to the bathroom only with the aid of crutches… no… I had not counted on this.
Sixteenth notes
One e and a two e and a three e and a
Need to learn rhythm
Need to learn the beat
I can get it to go through my hands
But to put it all together
The sounds the melody
The music
It’s like I’m orchestrating
My own chaos!
“One, two, three, four!” The three-year-old held up her fingers, showing the four digits of her right hand proudly at her mother, who smiled and awarded her child with a playful kiss on her cheek.
“Good job, sweetie! You counted them all!”
The toddler giggled and waddled toward the lake to look at the ducks more closely. Her mother noted that her toddler already loved nature, but she was doubtful that her toddler would handle the animals with gentle hands.
My vote. I could have counted on my one hand how many times I had been asked for my vote. No. I could have counted on one finger how many times I had been asked for my vote. But that one time, that one time was all it took. I was hooked into it. My opinion mattered to someone. I mattered to someone.
She eased to the ground with a sigh
the last breath she would exhale
her essence released to the sky
a thought grasped her mind in those final seconds
a hope that she had done enough,
helped enough, given enough
reached out
to her friends, children,
to people she had encountered in her life
all those moments flashed across her fading eyes
knowing that those things mattered
that in the final tally
they counted
Do you not want to be counted, why not?
Being counted is good
Being counted is healthy
So, be counted!!!
I counted on you to be ted when you said you would but you failed me yet again.the failure is all mines as you’ve failed me before thus this time shame on me. i counted on myself to lose count as i usually do when love is the wager. i count me out.
Today I counted the stars with the love of my life. I just counted the beauty in everything. I just kept counting. I counted the freckles on your shoulder, I counted the number of times you twitched as you fell asleep on the ground as we laid there, just counting stars.
I counted in my head. One, two, three, “BAM!” One, two, three, “BAM!” One, two, three, “STOP!” I shouted. My brother turned around, stared at me, and rested the bat on top of his shoulder. “Why’d you stop me stop for?”
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. This was it: what he had been preparing for all these months.He would finally do something that was worthwhile, something that counted. Steeling his resolve, he walked through the doorway.
There should have been eighteen sandwiches. I counted them several times before we went on the picnic. Now I had a sulking and sobbing nephew while the rest of my family chowed down on their mayonnaise-clotted treats because everyone related to me seemed to like mayonnaise except for me.
“C’mon, Scott,” I tried to reassure him, taking his hand. “I’ll grab you a doughnut or something from the bakery nearby.”
counted clown. plastic clicky thing with the balls strikes and fouls. white plastic tacks, like little crowns. spinning numbers. jealous. I want that clicker. I want that clicker to say something other than one two three strikes.
I counted this number over and over. I calculated it in different ways to make sure it was right. People can skip a number or two when counting, right?
It was nothing more than three little words she heard shortly before she fell asleep, but those counted for a thousand more who hadn’t been said yet. She woke up rather confused whether it had been a dream or not, but the expression he had on his face when she stumbled to the kitchen wearing nothing but his clothes that barely reached her mid-thigh, she was sure -he had indeed said it, and meant every single one of them.
Sighing, he stood up. His minutes were counted and he knew it. They would bomb the street, even though it was called Heaven. None of that mattered to them. The nightmares growled at him and the storm joined them. Then he heard the bang.
I counted the tiles as I stepped past them knowing they would always have a background. I knew the order of the cars in the parking lot from the window I stared out of; holding back tears. I counted the moments I would record later and I counted what they would mean to me if I could ever look back.
“I was never part of this. You never counted me in this. I was always just your extra.”
i counted. i counted the times our skin touched. i counted how many times you said you loved me. 5. i counted how many times you said you’d never leave. i counted and counted. waiting.
Counted. You once counted. Now you don’t. You are in the past. Accounted for. Now it’s time for someone else to be counted. The good news: who do you think does the counting? Now it’s your turn. To count those who count. Not easy, is it? A bit too powerful? You wish you could go back? But the power may go to your head.
never counting sheep, always counting heaps, heaps of very indistinguished ignorant minds that speak
Stand up and be counted. Who counts? That really depends on where you are and who is involved. Stand up and be counted. By whom? Who counts for you? Why? Are you a counting snob too? Perhaps we all are. Everyone should count with us, not too much as R. Kipling would say. But as Orwell would say, some will count more than others.
1. The child counted all the marbles and put different colors in separate bags.
2. The cashier counted all the money before closing the shop at night.
3. He counted his chickens before they were hatched.
4. The children counted from 1-10 along with the teacher.
5. The stars cannot be counted because they are infinite.
6. The child counted all the blocks and put different shapes in separate boxes.
7. The manager counted the cash in the office and locked the office.
8. They counted the number of items in the bill and checked if they were correct.
9. The traveler counted whether all his bags had arrived at the baggage carousel.
10.My teacher counted the total marks scored by each of the students in her class.
They used to mean so much to him. He’d counted them over the years; since his fingers were tiny, covered in spit, until now when they shook because he couldn’t control them anymore. How had everything else slipped away?
I would love to feel counted. Counted in my family with my mother, at the rink with what I do with the shows and programs. Counted in life. At work. Everything. I just feel like I’m always pushed aside, never really seen in the side lines. It sucks.
To be counted in life. That would be amazing to actually have.
counted
counted counted
counted
counted
counted
counted
counted
counted
counted
counted
there is a sesamee street caractor name the count that likes to count. i dont think counting is really all that fun. unless your counting something like… dinosaurs which i dont know how you would do that sense there extinct and all
A girl paced back and forth on the worn wood floor. Her golden-brown hair bounced slightly with each step. She had light brown eyes that almost matched her hair, eyes that stared blankly at the ceiling glossy with unshed tears. She focused on the ceiling, concentrating hard as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered. As she paced she counted under her breath. Step “one,” step “two,” step “three.” But still she could not block out the voices that drifted from below her.
“One, two, three, four, five six, seven,” I counted to myself. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” I counted again. I am a perfectionist. All my spices are alphabetized on their shelves and I never keep an odd number of anything. But I only have seven packages here. Someone has stolen some pretzels.
The cashier counted all the money before closing the the shop at night.
I counted on him being there on time as I wanted to make sure all the plans were in place. I check with the Telweb and it confirmed that he was still more than 30 km away. I had time to look around. Walking around the mall I noticed people.
injury counted 60 at the protest in Middle East.
counted is the word to use culculate something.
I wish to be counted as useful, needed, helpful. Not the center of the universe, or the life of the party, or someone you carve in stone. But counted as useful to my family, friends, coworkers, and the planet.
I wish to be counted as useful. Counted as needed, counted as one who can be counted on. I don’t want to be the most valuable, or critical — just needed and useful.
don’t hatched your counts before they chicken. i was expecting you here at 9, and what is it now? 10:30? jesus brit, you just can’t be counted on. very disappointing, very much so.
Counted.
My words are counted
beneath my tongue
and my fingers brush
quietly and slowly their edges.
Someone finds me
my words –
because I’m stammering
and I’ve lost the meaning of things.
My words
are not
mine
anymore.
I thought I was the one who counted. I was wrong. I don’t count, never have, never will. I cared too much, when I should have remembered that caring is not an advantage.
I hadn’t counted on this. Who would? No one, of course. I had not counted on sitting for days with an ice pack on my knee, my senses numbed by pain pills, able to hobble to the bathroom only with the aid of crutches… no… I had not counted on this.
Sixteenth notes
One e and a two e and a three e and a
Need to learn rhythm
Need to learn the beat
I can get it to go through my hands
But to put it all together
The sounds the melody
The music
It’s like I’m orchestrating
My own chaos!
“One, two, three, four!” The three-year-old held up her fingers, showing the four digits of her right hand proudly at her mother, who smiled and awarded her child with a playful kiss on her cheek.
“Good job, sweetie! You counted them all!”
The toddler giggled and waddled toward the lake to look at the ducks more closely. Her mother noted that her toddler already loved nature, but she was doubtful that her toddler would handle the animals with gentle hands.
There were times we indulged in the desolation of dim rooms and found sanctuary in the silence between our lips. These moments, counted.
I will be counted as someone who is useful. Not value added, not critical to the plan, but useful. Bonus: I will be counted as needed.
My vote. I could have counted on my one hand how many times I had been asked for my vote. No. I could have counted on one finger how many times I had been asked for my vote. But that one time, that one time was all it took. I was hooked into it. My opinion mattered to someone. I mattered to someone.
I counted all my snacks only to know my sister emptied the box.