Death is an odd number.
I have multiplied an even temper,
an even heart, an even playing field,
two parents, two major traumatic events,
four major moves, eight stages to a break down
twelve stages to a recovery four times.
I have mulitiplied tens of girlfriends
and hundreds of friends, all with even little
zeroes sitting at the end of their quantities and
qualities
And all I get is 7, 25, 57, 143, 1, 1777, 945, and 3.
And no love can exist if not divisible by 2,
so I imagine Death is
just the absence of love.

I feel cold now.