The finity of experience

When someone says

We did this for tihar

During my childhood

You imagine years and years 

Of childhood

Filled with fun and frolic

Where they did these awesome things

Every day

But when you look back

You realize that 

Childhood is only twelve years

Four of which they are 

In no condition to remember

Two of which they probably did not celebrate

Due to deaths

(Or births, which is wierd)

So that leaves just six

And when you count it out like that

When the finite number actually stares you in the face

You think, that's it?

I did it only six times?

Count out the number of times you kissed

In a short three week relationship

That you thought was the deepest

And you ask yourself

So that's it? 

That's all it was about?

Counting always seems to

Take away from the mythologizing of it all

(Sorry numbers, actually i love you.

But can't find anything else to hit here)