You’re in pieces. Broken. A multiple of yourself. Your body, a lesson in mathematics.
But a strange math: how do we get you back to 1 again?
I never got to know you as 1, only multiples. Was your scream before or after the thump you made, colliding with the front of my car?
I was always good at math. Very fast, faster than the others. The relationship between numbers: the symbol: the operator: some symbols giveth; others taketh away.
What was the symbol of our numbers the moment my metal met your bone? What was the order of operation? Didn’t you know just as rock always beats scissors, metal always crushes bone? We both knew and didn’t know.
The tortoise often beats the hare, but the hare isn’t supposed to break the tortoise’s legs.
I am plural, not singular: pieces, no peace.
We are pieces, broken, looking for peace. All of us trying to get back to that unbreakable unity: 1.
We are moving about pretending to be 1 looking for “the 1” to make a greater I.
In reality we are pieces looking for peace in other pieces. How strange is the math we make. Why is singular better than plural? Why is 1 better than 0?
Bones broken heal stronger. By that rationale, brokenness is strength. But only if they heal.
1 stands tall and proud. Like a tree. It grows up. 1 knows where it’s going.
0 meanders. 0 is neither humble nor pretentious for it lacks self-recognition.
1 has plans, hopes, dreams. 1 has a destination, always a destination.
0 keeps moving. Has no definite starting or ending point. 0 pretends nothing, is nothing, is content in its nothingness.
Only 0 has peace.
follow me here