Countless numbers being counted on my hands. One two three. One two three. One two three.



I'll look at the cars passing just over the small gate, down the street, that over looks the glowing freeway. I see the same glow in your eyes when you talk. That certain subject always lets out light and gives a spark in your voice. Clearing your throat and settling your fingers on your lap. You stand still and begin to have a speaker's voice and you let it all run out. Like the moving water. Like the moving river. I am the fish running upstream. This is my first time. All the other fish tell me I must fight with it and yell at the stream to let me through so that every time after, I will never be afraid again. But they also tell me that if I can't overcome this fear, that I shall let the water take me down with it. The water will treat me the way the way the oceans have treated me. And I will never swim to the cool waters, and I will never see our home. I pick up my books and read useful words to write to you on clean paper. Clean white paper with perfect lines to the naked eye. But you never pick them up. Just like you will never understand the words here. You will see them as a short story. You will see them as simple thoughts but the puzzle pieces will never be perfectly fit together. Your missing piece must be under your couch, in your dresser, stuck in a shoe, or right in front of you. You cut it up because you want to ignore this. The truth is, I cut up the puzzle pieces. I never clearly want you to figure me out. I want you to become aware that I am a fish and I will swim up stream but you will never know what's going through my head while I am doing it. So let me count again on my fingers.


One two three. One two three. One two...







Let the neon lights glow. Let them glow.








Three.