my pulse took off at an indeterminate instantaneous rate of change
and I already found myself trying to calculate
how long it would take to lay tangent to you.
Further back on my own number line,
I chose to wrap myself in worlds of whimsy,
lounge in lands of language.
I had always felt about as comfortable in a math class
as Harry Potter felt at Privet Drive,
and it was literature which taught me
that some infinities are bigger than others.
were the first boy to show me the mathematical implications of such;
the first equation I became so determined to solve
that I bothered to double check my work.
You plotted precise points along my perimeter
and found values for variables I hadn’t even realized I’d needed to solve for.
We accelerated exponentially,
spiraling out like the Fibonacci Sequence –
every step we took forward, a sum of where we’d already been.
You were a cosine function, constant in your fluctuation,
and I longed to be sine
so our points of intersection could be infinite,
stretching out in all directions.
I wanted to integrate the space between your heartbeats,
calculate the area under the curve,
find the volume of the passion we shared as it spread into all four quadrants
and every time I was 95% confident that my feelings for you
had reached an absolute maximum
you found enough statistically significant evidence
to reject my original hypothesis.
You snagged my from my sanctuary of similes
and showed me the elegance of evaluation,
the beauty of a balanced equation,
the world’s carefully crafted congruence –
permutations and combinations that make up the very improbability of life and of love.
You taught me what it felt like to have within my veins
of a limit approaching infinity.
In the end, unfortunately,
fate chose not to make trigonometric functions of us.
Instead, we were like perpendicular lines:
destined to meet once
then grow farther apart.
Even so, I carry the lessons you graphed within me
much like you used to carry your calculator –
close to your heart, and always.
I reblog this every time I see it because I have yet to find a gif I like more.
Whenever I feel truly alone
When I cannot stand having to live in a world that so deeply does not understand me
When I feel exhausted by just living and waking up every morning and having the face the world
When I start to wonder why I keep on fighting
I think of Galileo
Who was forced to…
what if obama does the ice bucket challenge and nominates queen elizabeth
This miniature ecosystem has been thriving in an almost completely isolated state for more than forty years. It has been watered just once in that time.
The original single spiderwort plant has grown and multiplied, putting out seedlings. As it has access to light, it continues to photosynthesize. The water builds up on the inside of the bottle and then rains back down on the plants in a miniature version of the water cycle.
As leaves die, they fall off and rot at the bottom producing the carbon dioxide and nutrients required for more plants to grow.