018751 this was the lunch code I was given
My first day of third grade
My teacher wrote on my hand
With a green marker that smelled like berries
018751 this was the passcode for my first email
That my best friend made for me
Because that was the only set of numbers I could remember
For even though it was no longer written on my hand
It was still written in my brain
Etched
Each number
0
1
8
7
5
1
You asked me to stay
As you gazed into the future
Longing once more
I am not a poet
I don’t know how to use my words the way they can
I can’t captivate the minds of my friends by stringing them along with the simplest of words
I am not a musician
I stood in the crowd
My feet cemented to the ground
Just basking in the light of something that would slowly fade
I could hear the high pitched ringing
A reminder of a past days sacrifice
Comments
I still use a variation of my high school ID card number as a password to this day (I'm 31)! Interesting to think about the ways in which we develop attachments and add meaning to such inconsequential things sometimes.
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