in a universe with an infinity of numbers, you are able to find two little numbers that describe exactly the years you have lived on the earth. each pair of numbers speak their own stories. one hundred is a symbol of wholeness. one whole pie. well this number is exactly one quarter of wholeness, one slice of four. no one likes their slice broken in pieces, or with a bite taken out of it.
just a number?
it was the number that said it was serious now. you wanted some kind of status, so it gave you it, maybe because it got tired of you asking for it. did it work? everyone thinks that it did.
it teaches you things too. it told me that no matter what the new number is, you will still be learning about who you are. you thought that you had figured it out already, but you change as fast as the number does. feel the uncomfortably foreign next number roll off your lips. you aren't there anymore.
but why the numbers are really there
is so that you can hide who you are behind it
and hope that no one can see through them
i contorted my body to the curve of the two and held it for as long as i could, torso forward, arms up but with nothing to hold onto. wouldn't mind taking a break. i think i'm losing balance now. could see the dim light not hidden by the shade.
like my quarter wholeness is going to burn away from the light..
every number telling its own story. why can't i tell the story? why do i have to do what it says? it's the story already written. i want to reach, but i wouldn't let me. says i can't break the rules. i wanted to break the rules so badly, write the story my way, ever so carried by the current of the story. i told you, i was drawn by them. we're all drawn by them and we listen to them, waiting for more to be heard, enjoyed and relived in our mind. but the greatest fear is the fear of writing your own story, your way.
just a number.
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