the sense of roughness creeping onto your fingertips when the ball pen crashes with shabby loose-leaf paper.
the brightness of the laboratory making your eyes aware of something that you wish you could just grab and look at. something more than an idea. you try to wrangle the secrets out of the universe. and your tongue is bitter when you’re asked to leave before your experiment is done.
the stabbing pain that descends upon you when your mind runs off with little fuel, in a direction the yellow pencil in your hand can’t trace. your system is in chaos: you understand what entropy is. you exist, in a state of growing disorder.
the clear sense of belonging that crawls over you when you realize its 12 am and you’re still stuck in the library with nothing to show for but a completed lab report, with diagrams that weren’t required for credit but you couldn’t help but pour over the workings of the pulley with each force labeled to bits. the force of gravity is sinful, you enjoy how it makes the world turn, but sometimes, you wish it would let you fly.
the almost silent moment of calmness that fills your veins when you think of something broken in this world and your hands draw upon your mind like you cannot wait to fill this existing rupture.
you are now a cosmic entity, and your data ignites ideas, and ideas ignite you, and every inch of you can’t help but wonder at what equation you must write and what flowchart you must draft. you are here to correct what must be a slight in the blueprint of the universe.