I know that I end up boring you with all the random topics I bring up during our calls, but I only do it to hear your voice just a while longer. More than anything, however, I know how long it takes to muster up the courage to take your hand and kiss you. It took me 10 years.
Some may think that knowing these things is of little value. “Small matters”, they say, “what use of this knowledge compared to knowing the formulas of physics, the equations of the Universe?” I let them be. Millions of people can work on such equations for thousands of years, nature is not going anywhere. It is you, however, who’s fleeting, and only a select few have the opportunity to be a part of your life. Thus, it seems far more important to me to crack the equation of you. But please, bear with me. As I said, I’m not particularly great at math.
The Equation of You
by Sten Sootla
https://medium.com/@stensootla/the-equation-of-you-dffa389eb678
The Universe is billions of years old, and as wide as space itself. I read from somewhere that there are more stars in the night sky than there are grains of sand on all the beaches in the world combined. If you believe that the Universe is eternal, then I suppose it mathematically means that there is literally almost zero chance of you being alive at any given moment. But then again, math was never my strongest subject.
In any case, you, honey, are then just a slight moment in time, an infinitesimal speck in this vast unknown. And just like that, you’ll be gone. You’re like a tiny flower in the garden of cosmos, picked by the flow of time as soon as you become into existence. It is therefore quite unfathomable to me how it came to be that I happened to walk by you the very moment you spread your leaves and blossomed. A mere few decades too late or too early, nothing compared to the timescale of eternity, and I wouldn’t have met you. A few light-years to the west or to the east, and I wouldn’t have the privilege of knowing you. But however improbable it may be, I do know you.
I know that when you smile, one expects to see your teeth, but apparently you only give a glimpse of your gums. I know that you hiccup once, and only once. I know that your hair smells like coconut, and that coconut smells like you. I know that the tiny birthmark on the tip of your nose feels as if god drew a period at the end of his greatest sentence. I know that I end up boring you with all the random topics I bring up during our calls, but I only do it to hear your voice just a while longer. More than anything, however, I know how long it takes to muster up the courage to take your hand and kiss you. It took me 10 years.
Some may think that knowing these things is of little value. “Small matters”, they say, “what use of this knowledge compared to knowing the formulas of physics, the equations of the Universe?” I let them be. Millions of people can work on such equations for thousands of years, nature is not going anywhere. It is you, however, who’s fleeting, and only a select few have the opportunity to be a part of your life. Thus, it seems far more important to me to crack the equation of you. But please, bear with me. As I said, I’m not particularly great at math.