I sat down to write and could only scribble out three words. I love him floated across the page in every sentence I wrote. It was the first full thought thrown up from my insides. Bile of longing emotion, eight characters that wouldn’t change the past. Most of my essays were in fragments, unable to create something whole.
I watched a movie once about love. The main actor was a writer, she said she didn’t realize it could be more than whole. I bled over the lines, outside of time. I don’t know much about science, a novice physicist and a believer in atoms. The smallest of miracles creating our beds. Our homes. Our bodies inside of where we were. Our atoms mixed together and our neurons synapsed. His galaxy left an impression on mine. An infinity that ended, ripping the artwork from my bones.
He had a small tattoo on his side. Flippantly mentioned most people ask why he got a triangle. Late one night I was tracing it with my finger, he told me I was the first person to ask reasoning behind a delta. He said he faked his way through math, but symbols always fell inside him. The symbol for change stuck right to his ribs. Unassuming to remind him, there is constant change. I asked him why not the shape of a circle, to indicate something whole. It was dark but I could feel his eyes as he peered at my face. He brushed my hair back, tucked it behind my ear. Said, “Why is a circle the only shape that gets to be whole?”
We both fell asleep and in the morning I said any shape could be whole. I never expected it to be mutually exclusive. We got ready for work and I pinpoint that as the moment I fell in love with him. It had begun before we met, a person at the right time, just never for long enough. I do wonder if that’s the same moment he decided we were over. Up until then, we tended to agree on most things. I wanted so badly to believe that everything happened for a reason. But he had the delta, the different, the change scratched upon him as a badge. A badge of acceptance in a world of little else to do. I looked up more meanings, the delta can also mean uncertainty.
The square peg in the round hole fits more than you would think. The piece falls through into nothingness, hits the ground deep below into the well. He was the delta, the uncertainty, the constant change when I think about the past year. I fell through into constant change. If someone were to ask me to draw it, it would be three lines. The isosceles triangle that changed me more than I could’ve guessed. The needle on skin, pressure of his eyes.
Where was the whole between us?