She is a mathematical genius—
eternity’s pupil,
who saw time unfold
through a portal only she could find.

Her mind drifts freely,
a vessel for the muses’ silent speech,
messages whispered in telepathic threads
she trusts like breath,
woven into the fabric of belief.

Behind the veil of the world—
the imaginary glass—
do angels wait?
She sees them there,
shadows of light in the stillness.

She speaks,
not to be understood by all,
but to share truths that linger,
for she knows—
the solid things of earth
are but conduits
from some distant, radiant sphere.

Her thoughts leap—
a dance from physics to faith,
from what is known
to what simply is.
The universe—
ever present, ever true—
needs no permission
to exist.

And all around her,
in every blade of grass,
angles converge—
silent guides
ushering her spirit
to a realm
where only she
can go.