Golden Mysteries

“Where do I begin?” Timidly, my voice rang all too loudly in the quiet space.
“Begin with one.” The therapist wore a yellow tie.
“No, zero is first.” I wished that tie would leave.
“So begin with zero.”
“Zero is nothing.”
“Indeed. What does nothing feel like?” The tie sat back, cascading over a ponch.
“Space. Empty, lonely space.”
“Good.” The tablet is yellow too, the one he writes on.
“And one is.. me! I am one.” Suddenly things flew into focus. Memories crashed into my head, two, three, at a time. All of them parts of me. I had two parents, three sisters, four cats, and a goldfish.
The sunlight glistened off the lake. It was early, too early to get up. My body protested. 4:56 AM. I rolled over. He was there beside me. He was cold.
I froze. The memory instantly vanished.
I had stopped it.
But why?
“Seven?” prompted the doctor.
“No. I gotta go!” I grabbed my jacket and ran from the office. The yellow was making me ill. And seven was too much to handle right now.

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