this is how you’re gonna go far, 1.5. this is how you’re gonna prove them wrong.
first, drop the number. though they tell you otherwise, it is as much a part of you as the gum you stick under your desk. this world wasn’t made for decimals or the 4.0’s who couldn’t scrape the digits off their skin if you handed them a chainsaw. you’re not going where they’re going.
forget everything about balancing chemical equations and own the way you drink your coffee black — one day it’ll impress the gold-skinned barista girl and craft a story that the periodic table could only dream of. purge the formulas from your system and replace them with bus routes and train schedules and how to become properly lost. there is no theorem for the fire escapes you’ll sneak onto or the celestial alleyways you’ll stumble across. know your strengths, because they’re practically shining out of your pores. literary analysis is worthless compared to the way you talk to strangers, and the genius you’ll find shooting up underneath the overpass won’t care about how much russian literature you’ve read. what he’ll care about is how you paint him every sunset he’s ever missed with the words you send echoing off the concrete.
let every answer you’ve ever bubbled in vaporize with your mid-december sidewalk breath and don’t wait to see whose haggard face they blow into next. you’re not going where they’re going.
you are not a number. you are who this world was made for.