Pretty sure my brain
set age to off
when I saw the gold chain
draped over your breasts.
We met where decimals blur —
a glitch in the algorithm,
a link too long
for logic.
You were a third in, maybe,
bright with becoming.
I was two-thirds deep,
already contemplating
endings.
But the numbers
didn’t ask permission.
They never do.
You call me ancient
when I misquote memes.
I call you cutie
like it’s currency.
We divide desire,
not dessert.
We fold ourselves
into each other
like bad origami —
creased,
but still holding.
Time?
Time’s a rumour
we refuse to fact-check.
I lose hours
in the dip of your cupid’s bow.
You say
my chest feels
like somewhere
you’d like to live.
We do not add up.
We never did.
You —
the unsolvable equation.
Me —
the indivisible, still trying.
But even impossibles
leave traces.
You glow up my WhatsApp
like a cat
mashing the keys.
We are present tense
written in future conditional.
A love
not quite lost,
just
hovering
around —
waiting for the maths
to make
an exception.