I burn my mouth and lungs with puffs of nicotine and I realized it feels too good to burn myself alive because darling, we were a perfect match but matches were meant to burn.
We must have one love, one great love; it gives us an excuse for all the moments we are filled with despair.
Two people who were once very close can, without blame or grand betrayal, become strangers. Perhaps this is the saddest thing in the world.
But maybe not; love is a lot like math. I think it’s really sad that parallel lines can be like people, travelling side by side, with almost everything in common, but never touching. But it’s also sad that any other pair of lines intersect once, and never meet ever again; that can be a lot like people too.
Then we have parabolas; sometimes they meet once for a moment, or they can meet twice. Either way, only moments are spent between the two.
Soulmates are kind of like hyperboles; a line meeting the origin for the first time, and forever getting closer and closer. But that’s sad, too, because they also never meet quite right.
I think the weirdest thing is having leftover information about someone. Like, I still know someone’s favorite girl’s name, or his favorite season, or her favorite ice cream flavors. I know his favorite song to sing when he is upset, or his favorite guitar chord. I know her favorite childhood book, and the mental disorders her uncle had. I remember the ages and birthdays of his siblings. I remember the song he said he’d sing to their spouse. Where do I put this down? Where do I learn to forget? Where do I learn the people can be like lines, meeting once and never again? Or never really meeting at all?