He wants to be an engineer. He's talking about Newton and Hooke and I can't really keep up. He spits out equations and formulas, numbers and letters, my head hurts just thinking of it. His eyes are getting wider, brighter. It almost hurts to look at him when he gets like this. I know people are confused when they see us. He is math I am words. He is a top ranked school I am community college. He's filled with equations, formulas, and theories. I am filled with poetry, books, and literary devices. And in the fall we will part and despite the promises of keeping in touch I'll be just another thing he's left behind.