68
68. The number of infinite potential. one step from true greatness, one from tragedy. If it chooses to walk in the sun, it shall burn forevermore as the funny number. however, it can just as easily slide to shadow, damning it to a life as a burnt out fad. Always passed over, always disregarded, does it grow bitter, understanding that it will never be great? Does it feel rage for always being so close, just a little more, just a little less, and it will be immortal. Does that rage fill it with hate? Pure contempt for its brethren? Or does it grow thankful for its life of numerical quiet, watching its left and right become cartoons, caricatures even. Does it feel grateful for its fate? Does it understand that without the burden of fame it can choose to be whatever it wants? That it can choose its own greatness? The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a number’s heart. One must imagine 68 happy
