The Mathematics of You

I imagined the world counting its years,

seventy-five carved into the average life,

most of them spent searching,

or wishing for someone almost like you.

But you are not “almost.”

You are the rare alignment

where chance forgets its indifference

and bends into meaning.

How many lifetimes would it take

for the right particles to collide,

to write not just love,

but this love, in their equation?

So when I tell you this,

it is more than a whisper of beauty;

it is proof written in the stars.

The universe itself is arithmetic,

and every number, every law,

adds up to you,

a gift that no imagination

could have drawn without the cosmos’ consent.

Then let me say what numbers cannot,

that even eternity envies your existence,

for in all its endless expanse

it could only craft one of you.

And that one is here, with me.