There are moments where the (my) world is turned upside down by the simple lining of numbers, the numbers, when the numbers line differentely, bringing an undesired sequence. The numbers I talk about, knowing everything has names which I rather ignore, have been with me for far too long, past their due living time, so long they forgot to be left behind, so long they barely need me to be fed. They feed themselves, little devlish things. They feed temselves on the memory of bony limbs. of endless steps along endless pavements, apples eaten under the sun and that cleaness of the air (was it true, or is is just a trick of my memory?). These moments when I loose track of both ends, let them slip through my fingers ,I wish to be able to crawl in a dark corner, waiting cristalized until the numbers are re-alined and the air can enter my nose abd fill my lungs.
I want to sleep until it goes away, I want to evaporate until there is order.
I just don't want to feel the world like this.