to: love that soothes

28

of all things that we can care, we care more about numbers more than we should be. we keep counting things. one, two, three, a hundred, a thousand, a million. not enough, not enough, again, again. we are so busy piling numbers on top of each other, making it a mountain of forgotten possibilities, a memoir of unsatisfactoriness. 

we had them already, let's seek for more. and more. and more. we replaced words with numbers. we replaced names with codes. easier. quicker. when we add up things it will be easier and quicker. no body wants to have it slow and complicated. not in this time. not when everything passes by like a fucking hurricane.

when can we stop? will we ever be able to?

a lot of times, we will count our steps comparing them to a person beside us and wonder why can't ours be as far. other times, we will be counting ages and wonder why our time seems to move slower. there will be nights when we are left breathless, asking to the unknown, why our breath can't hold just a little longer, why our lungs filled with uncertainty and they give up within seconds no longer swallowing oxygen while others still have it until hours, days, months, or years. in our silence that deafen, we spit at our own life and become a bully to ourselves.

these days, i think i care more about numbers more than i have ever been. it is a common mistake. all that i can count, i count. even words. even things that i should have seen with the heart. but my heart is filled with holes and it keeps breaking i am done trying to make it whole again. i dwell in the constant flow of running numbers, and yet i keep missing things. and i count on how many times i miss them, and i miss them too many times that it burns the life out of me.

i want to stop with numbers for awhile. eleven days ago was the day when people tell stories about surviving their own demons. i was going to be one too. i thought these days i did. but i didn't. so i can't. i have four new scars just two days before. see, i just count them again. let me stop. let me see things without numbers. give me something to see even when my eyes are blurry even when my heart is filled with holes even when i mistake names and i forget days.

and i see you. with your hair blue. i almost fall of laughing. blue, my sweet boy, with blue hair, and i wonder since when blue looks this warm. blue has always been cold to me; the sky before the storm, the sea with too many secrets, the pills.

i don't want to care about numbers. i want to care about you, and your hair blue, and your eyes the same color even when both are artificial i care still. and it was a whole runway with people looking like they were covered by glitters and all the colors in the world but you were all black like a raincoat. maybe i am the one who does not understand anything but i see you there and i laugh and i laugh and i laugh so much my heart grows like a flying balloon seeking for freedom and all the holes seem like they were never there.

-- seeking out for you has been my coping mechanism i think i do not want to seek for more