Einstein in Love

Counting the Uncountable

Suffering make us calculate our actions and think twice before making a step forward or backward; we walk carefully; we move carefully; we speak carefully and watch out, for fear we might fall in the many traps and quagmires of this life. We calculate; we analyse, estimate and weigh up our actions and decisions since we fear paying a high price in the end, since we fear the suffering that life may conceal. I am not good at calculations, estimations and mathematics; I hate numbers as I hate logic and this is not strange for I recognise I am but a dreamer, a fantasist, an idealist.

From early age, and to the resentment of my parents, I had a powerful inclination for all sorts of arts, notably literature; I remember how I used to save my pocket money to buy a book each two days; I was addicted, a real bookworm. I hate calculations, estimations, mathematics, and for I hate them, I have become an easy prey for all varieties of sufferings; I am the girl who moves from one trap of this life to another, from one quagmire to another; yet, I am proud of being so in a world that is addicted to numbers, statistics, figures, sciences and logic. Unlike everybody else; I have buried my brain in dreams and visions and released my heart in the open air, in the atmosphere, in every place and every space; my heart is rising above all logic; my heart is lifting me beyond the heavens.

Wrong Calculations

One and One do not Make Two

1+1=1

My soul and body do not make two; they form the one person I am; my heart and I do not make two for we are one in our desolation and delight. Algebra, what a stupid science that can calculate it all except what is related to the emotional; numbers are wrong as they fail to convey what is so dear to us, feelings. None can guess how much I love her; I fail myself to estimate the grandeur and the scope of my passion for her; multiple feelings in the small heart of mine make just one passion for one person. I fail to count how many times I utter her name per day; many times her name invades me, one, two, three, four, do make just one name, one passion; one and one do not make two as any process of addition becomes unsolvable.

Two Times One Do not make Two

2*1=1

We are two, my love and I; we are two in passion and infatuation; two in just one love affair; we came across love together; ardour hit us together; (my love and I times Love equals one), just one passion, one story, our story. I hate numbers for they do not tell the truth of our feelings; they fall to convey the human side of us humans; equations are erroneous when it comes to the adventures and misadventures of our hearts; unsolvable equations are the equations of the soul. We can count cash, hours and days, people and assets, hectares and kilometres, quantities and volumes; yet no science can explain or grasp the feelings and the emotions; no science can come to terms with love and passion.

Two Part the infinite Equals One

2/∞=1

No matter what they do, no matter what people will say, no matter what others may think, no matter if all elements, natural and cultural, rebound on us, my love and I, we will always be together as one heart in love and passion. No matter if they blame, no matter if they scold and assault, no matter if they rise and fall, no matter what life may keep under wraps, she will always be mine, and I will always be hers, in one love, in one passion. We are two, alienated by the distance; yet, the distance fades away ahead of the intensity of the infatuation we feel both of us.

Each night, I hold her tight; I squeeze her body against mine; I sail on the oceans of pleasures underneath her clothes; I lick her lips and kiss them with eagerness. I stroke her cheeks sliding down gently to her neck, her chest, her breasts, her belly, down and down, my hands play; up and up, my desires rise; I melt as I feel her melting, as her fever adds to my fever, as her breaths steal my breaths, as her moves shake my flesh. Lying on her back; I hear her calling me in silence; she is the woman who knows how to invite graciously a body to make love to her; she is a woman who knows how to ignite courteously a mutiny of feelings in the heart. Each night, on a bed sheet covered with red rose, I see her naked, dressed in beauty, a splendour sleeping on splendour; I lie next to her and little by little the two bodies blend and make one; just one; she is one; and my love is one.

I am good at mathematics, and calculations; don’t you think so?

-Faithinlove-