At some point, you stop counting. You are intensely reluctant to accept that the property of numbers is neither universal nor constant. You notice a simple arithmetic operation may yield an incorrect outcome—not to you, perhaps! Examples of numbers dishonoring the law of the physical world depending upon the counter, context, time, place, and purpose of counting are common. But you assumed otherwise all these times! You also realize numbers are not immune from exploitation, which destroys their importance and consequence, leaving you not to be callous but benumbed. Then, only then, do you begin to notice what has always been around—things that are uninterpretable in consciousness while you, me, and the others have been sleepwalking with bowed heads—lest the truth spill! All are desperate to avoid looking at each other to keep hidden the heftiness of moot feelings. Frantically trying to hold, rumbling from the reflection’s tremor. All attempts fail only to swell up on every crease of appearance. Everyone is soaked in the shame of a naked feeling. The struggle seeks you and makes you incapable of articulating your sentiments if there were anyone to care about listening. None. Utterly anguished, you conspire ways to move on with impromptu yet impermanent logic for the time being. The endurance of mind and body can withstand only so long before your knee or heart collapses from the consequence of the false sense of security you tended to all these times.
Every waking moment of yours is filled with aroma, which changes depending on what you are doing, whether you find yourself floating in the ocean of time or simply pausing—sometimes intentionally, sometimes from the pull of a constraint. When you care about a fleeting moment, even a scent leaves an unforgettable imprint in your memory. You pause and contemplate how things are! The smell of your abode, the place you named home—regardless of how small fractions remain now, if they remain—can vanish in a blink. Everything around you can become a mere shadow in memory from the tangibles. When the invigorating smell disappears to the slope of the horizon but resides only in remembrance, you wonder if your loss of sensorial capacity has anything to do with your unwillingness, your resignation, to count! You are left with intemperate patterns to plan only for the moment—an inhale or exhale until the final! The core stumbles and the mind plunges into a valley of tangent ideas: the disappearance of the sky, the splits of land beneath the feet, or the air becoming thick, heavy, and unbreathable any instant. All is a possibility, but all these times, you have deemed otherwise!
Note: Arithmetic operations such as addition, subtraction, etc.