Melissa Georgiou

I don’t like numbers, they make me feel like a fallen, fearful fool, yet in agony I count the uncountable days over my heart you rule. I have counted the days my eyes laid before you; floods of fluttering passion, flickering in awe, mesmerised by your mind: a labyrinth of a manic mansion. I can account precise dates in which your body electrifyingly enveloped mine, I still want my body to be your canvas, sparked with your touch I can align from the countless days I suffer from your insufferable silence, I count the days I am rotting in a wormhole of forsaken malice. I count the scales my skeleton scatters in an attempt to get to my core: the heart. What’s left of me in anguish and crawling tries to salvage the unsalvageable; the essence of my bosom disintegrating to misery and nothing more. I don’t like numbers. Yet I am left to count the ways in which without you I am incapable. I don’t like numbers. But I counted our moments. Now? I count fragments.