And you do live with it. You fold it into the shape of who you become. You let it teach you tenderness. And then, finally, you let it go.
I learned the Pythagorean theorem in Mrs. C’s living room, but not from a textbook. She taught it to me with the slant of her hip against the kitchen counter, the angle of her wrist as she poured two glasses of lemonade, the long, solve-for-x line of her leg stretching out on the sofa. I was fifteen. My best friend, Jason, was in the bathroom. And I had just discovered that the shortest distance between two points was not a straight line, but the curve of a woman’s smile when she looks at you like you’re already a man. my first love is my friend’s mom
The crush was not a lightning strike. It was a leak. Slow, then a flood. And you do live with it
The Geometry of Us
Then, one summer, I observed.