prompt ( from Anonymous on Tumblr): i am in love with a man who is a mathematician. i can never be with him, never. he is way too good for me and despite seeing the saddest colours when he takes off his glasses, the flecks of blue in his eyes, he completes me. i just do not complete him.
Again my thoughts turn towards you in your pile of bricks which is architecturally constructed, in ways that you and your kind see fit. Then my eyes drop away and there they stay until something reminds me of you again. You were right about me and my work being on the way out and not the best and who was I to argue this with someone wearing a hat? I knew you were special the first time I saw you and your room. I knew that here was something I could not buy or get from the credit merchants on the high street or even a boutique anywhere but the seediest brothel in Berlin. And you looked at me with those big brown eyes wearing that shy smile and three days of stubble and those clothes that you would pay a fortune for in the retro shop. But you were present and incorrect. Wonderful! Like the square root of pi, you were the circumference surrounding me I had wished for all of my life.
But I saw a glimpse of mathematical notation that was too glorious for even Boole to see. I walked around you spoke to you, shared music and food and all the time your equation treated me like rogue data in the end you drove me crazy. And I saw you in this symbolically a symbol but unable to break free of the glorious simultaneity of your reality. For the most part, you were like wallpaper to the vertices of your planar existence but when you took off your glasses and I saw the flecks of blue and the sadness inside. And exponentially the truth came to me and being a limited vessel that I thought I was I did not know that this was how you completed me until after it happened and sadly you went away, canceling me like opposites.
In my eyes, you were the man who would take me from blistering normality to somewhere new where we could be unconditionally but the little arithmetics we made just canceled each others out and we were left staring at each other. You with hostility, me with compassion and understanding. But like oil and water we were never the twain to meet. Beside myself in agony, I rue the day we ever met.