I hate numbers, they are promising.
They form an essence of my birth,
and make me aware that there will be a number which will find me dead one day. It won't be long but still it will seem like infinity when countlessly going by. As John Green once wrote in his book, some infinities are bigger than other infinities and there are days, many of them, when we resent the size of our unbounded set.
People want more numbers without even knowing how much we have left and so do I.
Despite the grudge I hold for numbers, there can't be a life without them. I need something to count on to, at the end. The plate on the back of my scooty, the beautiful random set of numbers. Never thought of that when I fume with hatred for numbers. The marks, with which an average student (me) beat the topper's pride, brought me joy. The numbers that my first crush dialled on my phone, so we could connect, made me love numbers.

I may resent counting them, but I happily embrace that I do count on them. I count on you, life.

© Supriya Baranwal