he counted

he loved to count. he counted all the things he saw on his way. he counted them once, twice and sometimes, he sometimes counted them much more as he could hold in his working memory. his span to notice things was amazingly big and it rose with eacht number, with each thing, with each cube he counted. To count was his life.

he loved to count. he counted as soon as he woke up and got up in the morning. he counted at breakfast, he counted at dinner and he counted in the bar drinking his after-work beer. he counted people, he counted, chairs, he counted cars and he also counted the plates on his way. to count was his life.

he adored to count. And even he tried to stopp he again began to count shortly after quitting. he WAS a counter and counting was a huge part of him, a part of his heart and a part of HIM.

One day, he hardy remember that day, he woke up in the morning, liing in his bed he noticed a unknown feeling, but he ignored it and got up. As he made breakfast and he trunk his orange-juice he stopped. He had noticed that he was not counting. he forgot it without any reason. And from that day on, he never counted again... and he lived... he lived his life.