Of Numbers

This world of numbers. Simple laws of physics and biology playing themselves out, determining every outcome. Every question ever asked was answered millions of years ago when the universe made its one and only decision in an explosion of heat and energy.

This world is of numbers, for it is mine, and I am of numbers. Many of those beings with need for gods and names and words believe I made it, but the truth of that does not matter. All that matters are the numbers - math and physics, biology and astronomy, and her.

Even now, after all that happened I do not truly understand her. The cosmic equation is one of certainty and inevitability, every atom held by chains stretching farther back than even I can truly know, safe and secure and determined. Every atom but hers.

Somehow, against every law I made and all the ones I did not she rebels. Defies the very fabric of reality, denies its hold on her, extends beyond it in ways I would never have imagined possible.

The first time I gazed upon her watching the death of a collapsing star, the numbers taught me what fear was. She was anathema, chaos in its purest form, and even still and silent she sent shockwaves that shattered across the universe in tiny, unfathomable destruction. It would take me eons to repair the damage she caused and yet I found myself paralyzed, transfixed by her sight.

She turned and her gaze found mine. Her eyes were deep and heavy, the empty void where galaxies went to die, and I felt myself sink deep within them. I tried to say something but could not find the words, and the sudden realization came upon me that I have never spoken before.

“Hello” She said. Her voice echoed in the vacuum, as dense and heavy as a dwarf star. I combed the numbers until at last I found a voice. “Hello” I rasped, my voice harsh and guttural. The sound was unfamiliar, a dead voice’s first words. She smiled at the sound of it.

I would sometimes sit and watch supernovas, ride the corona of light and fire as it burned through the system and beyond, destroying, creating, transforming. Somehow, despite the odd, sad way it twisted on one side, her smile was brighter.

“Who are you” She asked “I am me” I said “But I am me. You can’t be me too” “That’s true” I said gravely, and she laughed “You’re funny” She said “I- I do not know what that means” “Don’t you?” “No. The numbers do not know of it” “Well, of course numbers aren’t going to know it” She said chidingly “Here, let me show you” She took my hand in hers.

The sheer sensation of contact was lightning shooting through my form, for it was the first. It overwhelmed me, nearly overshadowing the dull ache that began burning my hand as slowly, ever so slowly, the chaos within her warred against the numbers in me, consuming, replacing, becoming.

“Come on” She said, pulling at me. The numbers gave warning, one more urgent than any before. I have never ignored the numbers, not once in all of existence. Not once. For I am of numbers.

I grabbed her hand, letting her pull me through the cosmos.

We flew through the world as she drew me deep into the universe. She showed me marvels I have never seen and marvels I have, and of them all she spoke in a way I could never have imagined.

Known were black holes and their gravity but she spoke of their loneliness, a craving for companionship so strong it destroys any it manages to draw near, and called them beautiful. She spoke of the stars, pillars holding together their family, destined to die, to bring down all they held together as they collapsed, and called them beautiful.

She spoke of light and of darkness, of comets and planets, of nebulae and the cold, empty space between galaxies and of the glacial, inevitable approach of the end - of the everlasting desire of the world to grow, to expand and learn and see and discover, and of the one true death this desire will finally bring, and to them all she called beautiful.

Her alien words resonated in me in a way I never imagined possible - loneliness; desire; beauty. Every day I learned more, and with every word I spoke the next came easier. My voice lost its guttural rasp as every day I grew closer to the words. And farther from the numbers.

I do not know how long it was I spent with her. It could have been days or millennia or eons; it does not matter. For now as I look upon the cosmos I do not see the numbers, and I realize I cannot remember how they looked.

I am of numbers but they no longer speak to me their truth. I am of numbers but as I look upon myself all I see are the words. I am of numbers, Aren’t I?

I do not know.

Who am I without the numbers? 

I do not know.

Who am I without the numbers?

I do not know

Who am I-

“I’m leaving” the words explode out of me. “Why?” She asks “Because I have lost myself” I say “You can never lose yourself” She says “You are you” “No. I am of numbers. But I have lost the numbers” “No” She insists “You are you. You can stay. You can learn the words” She says “I-” I struggle to speak

“You’ve been learning so quickly” she continues “Please don’t leave me. I love you” She says, the words new and potent for they are the first, resonating with the universe in a way no words have before.

“I love you too” I rasp, my words the second, and though I do not truly understand the meaning of them in this moment I know them true. “But I’m sorry. I cannot learn the words. I am of numbers and without the numbers I am nothing”

“So you’ll make me nothing?” She asks “Abandon me? Forget about me?” “No” I rasp “I will never forget you”

I fly into the void as she whispers a single word echoing with finality, for it is the last.

It has been a long time since last I saw her. In time the numbers welcomed me back, pushing back the words that filled me, burying them somewhere deep and dark - but not all of them.

And now as I ride the waves of a supernova- as I gaze into its light, feeling its heat play across my skin, seeing the numbers shine bright and clear I feel them rising within me and it is like she is smiling.

“Goodbye” I whisper, my one final word,

And it is so very, very beautiful.