Friday, 16 May 2014

Mathematical love.



I am the tangent to the curves of your body, circumventing the exponential loneliness of singularity. And come what may, I am a pendulum constantly oscillating towards your endearment; adjacent but never in contact. 

And I yearn for the intersection of our hands, but everyone knows if we converge, we will never meet again. If only we were collinear, I would tell you undyingly how graceful you were. Not only from the right angles, but from every fucking angle.

It's pretty fucking tragic, how I am foredoomed to be nothing but your parallel, incessantly gazing and evidently nonexistent. 

I see no equation. I see no numbers. She is the only figure.

We will never be a fraction, because I will never get over you.

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