Calculus

There are curves in calculus. Lots of curves. You have to calculate infinity multiple times. It is a bit redundant. Complicated things are often variations of the same thing. I dropped calculus. I had a hard time thinking of a curve as anything other than a curve. Calculus was irritating, an exercise in the power of arrogant human assumptions. It was like drawing the outline of a map and pretending to know what was inside of it.   

She was most definitely a curve. I could pretend to know what was inside of her, but I only had a broad equation for estimating her infinite possibilities. The possibilities of multiple kinds of infinity. I followed her, plugging in numbers, asking the occasional pointed question. I had a lot of questions. She always strode ahead of me, her steps purposeful. But she never seemed to have a destination. I wanted to hold her hand, be swept away in her remarkably simple infinity, but I was lost in my own convoluted curves. I felt like I was back in my calculus class, desperately holding on to every solid piece of information. My legs were moving faster than they were meant to, and I was panting. 

She didn't notice my discomfort, she didn't care or perhaps it brought her pleasure, smug satisfaction. She sat across from me. She laughed at my sad joke, my nervous feet and timid eyes. I couldn't laugh with her. I was scared of losing gravity. I took a sip of coffee. My nervous feet moved even faster. Testing their solidness. They didn't trust the ground. She smiled, taking my hand. The twitching in my toes was breaking lightspeed. I gasped for breath pretending to choke on my coffee, then sat back, defeated by my own embarrassment. She laughed!