Why The World Is a Square

There you were.

You were staring at me from those lovely glasses you wear when you need to read or drive.

I was immediately captivated.

You said, "I dropped my pencil."

I said, "I think I love you."

You told me that your mother said you would never understand men. You think she was right.

I smile and start to sweat.

Your brother walks into the room and asks why we are both sweating.

"Because the air conditioner broke again and we were just running," comes out of my mouth like magic.

I stumble awkwardly out of the room.

Two weeks later you give me a cake with no writing on it. I still believe you to be my soul mate.

You call me on the phone and tell me that you don't want to wear a white dress to our wedding. I nod as if you can hear me. It's a nervous tic of mine. I kiss the phone softly when you say goodnight.

At this moment, two satellites who have grown fond of one another collide in space. They do not love like we do. They should have been more careful. The sun looks on with burning interest. The moon laughs and the earth just keeps spinning.

Sometimes I dream at night and I see our children and their children and so on and they are all smiling. There is lighthearted music playing in the background. They are all wearing black turtlenecks. I sweat awkwardly again.

When we die our souls will fly through the air in sweeping semi-circles and continually crash into each other. Despite your lack of arms or hands, you will hold me and beg me to stay near you in your own voiceless way. I will oblige, never having loved you more than in that moment.