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every second, a question drops one boulder at the depth of my insides. i look at you and my paper. then back to you.
what are parellel lines? you and me. closely drewn together yet never meeting.
what is the value of pi? us. inifinitely never ending.
and congruence? i stopped. i think you did too because i caught the trickle of unease in your body, the way you scanned the room and your cobalt blue eyes met my brown ones.
congruence is something we will never achieve, no harmony because we are not the same, we are unequal, and never will be.
we are no stranger to the routine. it makes me want to gauge my eyes out, do anything but stand the torture of pain stacked against us. i am left with no choice. you look away as quickly as i do.
