The Equation of You and Me

I have always believed that the world, the universe, could be answered by formulas—that everything has a solution rooted in the predictability of precise numbers. Foolishly, I’ve tried using this logic to solve you, to understand you the way mathematicians understand the universe—with patience and proof. 

I looked at how scientists break everything down into its core components, explaining love away as nothing more than a cocktail of neurochemicals like serotonin.

I once believed that this is how simple our world works, and that everything will always submit to order. That everything can be explained through logic and precise calculations. I thought that the world was one big solvable problem, a theorem waiting to be proven. 

Those geniuses always seemed right in their hypotheses and answers, using variables to solve even the simplest problems, from the predictable tilt of the Earth’s axis to the rigid proofs of Euclidean geometry, from the simplicity of cause and effect to the complexity of Newton’s Laws. 

I have tried and failed to use their certainty to solve you. 

I was confident that I would never fall prey to a hopeless romantic love. I believed that my logic would protect me. But the moment you stepped foot into the room, flashing me with your charming smile, all my calculations started to falter—as if they started questioning their own validity.

In all honesty, no language of geniuses could ever solve the equation of you and me. 

Because tell me: what unit of force could ever measure the gravity I feel when I’m near you? What equation defines the event horizon I cross the moment you speak? What formula in the language of science can solve the beautiful, infinite irrationality of us?

If I were to attempt a solution, truly, I would need an instrument built for another world. I would need a sensor forged from something stronger than pride—something that won’t buckle under the crushing atmospheric pressure of these feelings. 

For months, we existed purely as potential energy: heavy glances across crowded rooms, words left unsaid. But once you held my hand, that quiet, stored tension finally snapped, and everything started connecting.

But, maybe, despite everything, the heart is just one big irrational number—something infinite, constantly unfolding, unable to be expressed in a simple fraction. 

Even so, I am willing to spend an eternity trying to map it out for you.

Being with you has made me realize one thing: there is more truth in the world than in formulas and precise calculations. No matter how beautiful the solutions are, there will never be a more beautiful answer to the question of how your presence alters my world. 

I have reached the singularity of you, where my logic doesn’t fail—it ceases to exist.