I Hate Math

I can’t understand those who find comfort in math. How can something be so continuous, but no numbers can describe having feelings that can end? Tell me, what is the diameter of a heart that’s broken? A fraction of a fraction of the pieces it smashed into. Because all objects fall at the same rate of 9.8 meters per second per second, but I crashed to the ground while you floated away. Maybe this is a lesson in the loneliness of infinity. My landing is a plot point, stuck static on this grid. Where somehow you manage to run right through me, leaving the past behind. These lines cross once and continue forever. Always approaching but never reaching the end.

What is the equation for how your eyes used to look at me? For how your heart thumps in your chest even though it feels like it’s concave? We can graph pretty pictures but nothing to justify feelings. A lonely shape to prove we can. How do you graph the empty side of your bed? A quadrant once filled with laughter, but cold and quiet as infinity approaches. Or as we approach infinity. I thought infinity was what was felt between two people in love. Possibilities of life in a line that continues forever. Perhaps infinity is actually crushing. It’s the distance between someone’s hands on your body but their mind light years away. I can’t find our vertex as our parabola expands. The numbers and letters with a parenthesis of feelings. I want to hide in there, no lonely exponent to find. I can’t seem to figure out how to plot your words in the dark.

Because there is no property to explain a change of mind. If A equals B and B equals C, why do A and C never match? When you divide into me all I have left is the remainder of my feelings. The quadratic formula of your mixed signals only leads to me throwing my hands up in the air. There is no comfort in irrational numbers when all I want is the safety of letters. The algebraic factors where n can equal whatever we want. Whatever I want. I can lie between the characters while the plane extends in all dimensions. Our n never was equal. I checked and rechecked wondering why zero was all I could ever come up with. How can it be zero when I am one and you are one but we still cannot equal two? A whole number is a lot to ask for, but maybe our fractions can combine. Together the denominators get smaller. Finding happiness in never striving to be whole. Don’t offer me pi to move around this circle. In love nothing is perfect. We just keep drawing together until its acceptable.