645

in place of my name is a number.

645.

i, like many, have been sorted.

only 644 are ahead of me,

but how many are behind?

there could be millions, thousands, tens,

but there also could be none,

rendering my number meaningless.

suddenly, whoever lies behind becomes irrelevant

and my mind can only fixate on those in front of me.

644 people who are

prettier,

smarter,

nicer,

better

than me.

toil goes into bumping me up a spot,

but if i were to move to 644,

it would make no difference.

i only know one part of what’s behind

yet 643 of what’s ahead.

643 spots i have to transcend

to reach the one,the only,

the seemingly insurmountable feat

that will hopefully provide me with all the validation i need.

but how will i know?

it’s an impossible pursuit.

in place of my name is a number.

o, how i long for the days

when my namesake did not discriminate.

-cn