Catastrophic precision of a neglected variable
Before you, I believe that everything can be measured, that things can be studied and determined. Then you happened. You came in unnoticed, a variable I never think I’d be accountable for. Yet still, I wrote you down, not because I knew, but because I believe you deserve to be written. As if the universe had the decency to answer the question that contains ‘you’ itself.
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I wanted something to appear, something real. I stopped identifying, just letting you in. Yet I mistook restraint as rigor, I took victory as a form of refrain. It was a dangerous thing to believe, a fiery commitment to witness something I willingly neglected and secretly crave. I called longing as an excuse, I called waiting as the process, I thought waiting will erase the one thing I wished.
Everything began with you and ended there too.
Every heartbeat insisted otherwise, I grasp hope against reality, is it worth it to be blind intentionally?
The dependable variable of an equation, the discovery I discovered too late, I no longer wanted answers, I wanted outcomes. The process upon were science ends. I stopped testing everything, I began defending it. I contradict every fact, every silence is a failure, every glance is a flaw. I have never loved anything with such catastrophic precision, Until I saw my reflection and found a clown on my own.
