Do the Math (bp coyle)

It is strange.  Words.  I know so many.  Yet seem unable to convey my meaning with any of them.

I tell Her the world means nothing.

There is no God.  No soul.  No meaning.

She says ‘Then I am nothing.’

I tell her ‘You are my God.’

She says ‘There is no God, I am nothing.’

I tell her ‘I love your essence.’

She says ‘I have no soul, no essence, I am nothing, how can you love nothing?’

I tell her ‘You give meaning to my life, you give meaning to me.’

She says ‘Life has no meaning, how can I give meaning to what is meaningless?’

She sits up in bed and looks down at me, ‘Why do you go on then?’ she asks  ‘Why should I?’

She gets out of the bed and starts to dress.  ‘You can’t have it both ways,’ she tells me.

‘If everything means nothing, and I am your everything, then I mean nothing.’

She takes pity on my confused face as she puts on her coat ‘Do the math,’ she explains.

And she leaves me.

And I know I used the right words.

But I said it all wrong.

 

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