149. The Math of Impossible YearsRoman

The room has not changed. Same cream walls. Same low hum of Nairobi traffic filtering through the windows. Same three children sitting across from me with a composure no child should have to learn this early.

What has changed is me. This is because my mind has begun to do something I have avoided for eight years.

It is counting. Not numbers… time and time, when you stop running from it, is brutal in its accuracy.

Seven years old.

That is what they are. ...