In an almost-full lecture hall, with a barely-there lecturer; I thought about you.
It finally occurred to me. Some people form lines between each other—lines that curve and bend; lines that dip down like valleys only to meet again at the tips. Or lines that form perfect circular spheres that wind around them in their perfect little world, almost like an atom. Or contours; either way, the lines meet to form an uneven but unbroken shape.
You and I, we formed lines too. Unlike the lines of others, our lines ran straight as arrows. Parallel straight lines. The lines formed but never met to serve an end. They pushed towards an infinite path but never curved and bended and moved and dipped and contoured to form a shape, a shape we wished we had—the perfect circle. The thing about us, the lines; a spherical plane never existed, a longitude and latitude that met at an angle—there was none. The lines moved on their own and, as hard as we’d try, it’s impossible to bend lines that are straight, unless, of course you had some telekinetic spoon-bending power.
This is no tragedy, nor is it a lament for a future we would not have. Rather, it is fact. Straight lines are straight, straight lines will never curve.