What is your body count?

The first time I was fifteen.

People say you never get it back.

They are right.

🌹

By seventeen

my body finally learned

how to spark like a wire.

🌹

For a while

I tried to keep track.

🌹

People like tidy stories.

They like clear answers.

They like totals.

🌹

But eventually

the pages start going missing.

🌹

Some nights

never make it onto the record.

Some names

disappear before morning.

🌹

Some memories

look different in the daylight.

🌹

When I found something

that quieted the static in my head

the room felt easier.

I could talk to people.

🌹

So I kept doing it.

🌹

But pieces of the night

kept falling out of my pockets.

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Some mornings

I woke up staring at the ceiling

trying to reconstruct what happened.

🌹

What was mine.

What wasn’t.

🌹

After a while

the story stopped adding up.

🌹

So I stopped keeping track.

🌹

Now when someone asks how many

I let them guess.

🌹

Whatever they say

I nod.

🌹

Sure.

🌹

Some things in life

are easier to count

than they are to understand.

🌹

And some things

were never meant

to be counted at all.

🌹

Rach