Every Number is Equal to Itself

I fell asleep repeating the

Fibonacci sequence to myself; each

number spinning outwards, a pattern of

seeds. I studied division and

imagined my body as a collection of

parts in a state of transition; cells

splitting. I spent time multiplying

the number of seconds by the number of minutes

by the number of hours by a lifetime;

seeing how much time I spent

counting the things I didn’t

need. I fell in love but found

that we never added up; our bodies together were

an empty set. It made

life easier to think of it as a

long series of subtractions; no such

thing as loss, just an inevitable

minusing. In a class the professor

wrote down some mathematical truth;

it was the only thing I found that

ever made sense.

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