I can see the numbers rolling back behind your eyes. Never know what the slots will bring. When I told you I liked surprises I didn't mean I'd like to find you spilling your mathematics all over the bedroom sheets counting how many times you could divide yourself from yourself and the languages spoken by mumbling mathematicians always failing to find the difference between their science and the love you needed.
I was 7 digits from talking you down. You felt you were born 6 feet too high. There are 5 times I can remember you laughing the last of those was on the 4th of July. How can anyone believe they are free when we are bought at this calendar price? You were laughing at the irony of the time it took you to say it. Silly woman, time is not made of numbers, but of songs.
I replay that memory at least 3 times a night. Your 2 shoes are the only music I'd still like to hear playing I am currently discovering that 1 is not a lonely number. I have spent cozy evenings cuddled up with the burden you left behind. It is colder than I remember you and always seems to squeeze my neck just a little too tight. You wanted to become 0, ignoring my side of this equation, but before you left you swallowed my equilibrium whole. I fell down bell curve cliffs until my words themselves became improbabilities. My love was more than average, I mean... I miss you. I mean... You're so **** stupid. I mean... I loved you. I mean... I love you.
If you and I are numbers we are easily replaceable, replicable as science has always wanted us to be. I am telling you now that no one else fits. I should have told you that a few days ago when I had more of you to stand by than fragments of memories each one passing, blaspheming your sum.