it’s 700 days later and i just remembered. i didn’t wake up with a burning knot in my throat or an aching mountain of pain in my head. i can’t believe how lost i’ve been. time and numbers have lost me and i’m in a trance of desire and misunderstanding and loneliness and self-empowerment and contentedness and dysphoria and dreaminess and courageousness to be with doing nothing, with being consciously unaware of your absence. it’s a huge number. but i feel myself slowly losing hang of its hauntingness. i feel myself slowly losing sense of who i was and how i clung onto something that brought me pride, pleasure, and a sense of peculiarly satisfying brokenness out of my sorrow. i’m older now. you’re higher now. my scope of understanding is wider now; i can grasp or sense where you may be at this time. and it doesn’t hurt. knowing makes the pain less, perhaps even fade. only sudden remembrances pang unbelievable pain in my chest like a door banged viscously onto itself. my heart falls like a heavy rock from the tip of a mountain to the abyss of a ceaseless sea. but it returns. it comes back up. it stings for a minute, but it heals as soon as i look away. maybe i’m still broken. maybe i’m still in love with the grief. maybe i’m still scared of losing the pain. maybe i’m still attached to counting. but it’s less painful now. it’s unconscious now. it’s just a part of me now. a part so hidden, so out of light, that i, too, don’t acknowledge its presence in my own being. which is how i’m able to live. i just don’t look at the dark as often. i keep my eyes adhered to the light till they blind and cannot articulate the dark on the opposite side anymore.