The Quiet Math of Us

​I spent years solving for X,

Scanning crowded rooms for a variable I couldn’t name,

Counting the heartbeats wasted on rehearsals

For a play that never opened.

I thought love was a heavy architecture—

Something built by sweat, stone, and strain.

​But then, the geometry shifted.

​You arrived not like a storm,

But like the sun finding a gap in the blinds—

Unforced, unearned, and blindingly bright.

It was the luck of a late train,

The sudden mercy of a green light

When I was already prepared to stop.

​We are a statistical anomaly,

Two spinning grains of sand colliding

In the dark throat of a hurricane.

There is no logic in how your hand

Fits the hollow of my palm as if it were

The final piece of a puzzle I’d forgotten to finish.

​This is the gain:

Not a trophy for the mantel,

But the sudden wealth of a shared silence.

The profit is found in the way the air

No longer feels like a vacuum,

But like a bridge.

​I did not hunt this happiness down;

I simply stopped running,

And found that love was already standing there,

Holding its breath,

Waiting for me to notice the luck

Of being found.