This number, the intangible phenomenon
That governs our lives
We are separated, categorised
Stereotyped by this number

But who's to say this number needs be comparable?
Isn't it full of subjectivity
And experiences, immeasurable data
That cannot be programmed into any system

To give us a true idea
First, tell us how many times you have been around the sun
Then tell us
Your age

I get lost
Inside books
Inside movies
Inside games

I get lost
I do not wish do be found
I only wish
That you come with me

I want to see the first thing you see when you wake up
I want to hear the most complex questions in your mind
I want to know how you cope with sorrowful thoughts
I want to feel the softness of your open palms
I want to laugh at the things you can't help but laugh at
I want to know how you feel when you're favourite song is playing

I want to know what you are

A sixteen year old boy stands at a bus stop
Fighting back the contortions flooding his face
Swallowing down the clay in his throat
Desperately praying his knees stay strong

The bus pulls away
The boy watches as eighteen months of his life drives away from him
The girl he loved with the passion only known by a teenage boy
Is now gone

And as he stumbles in the opposite direction
Blinded by questions unanswered
The memories begin their assault
Beating him in every way he fears