One: The fact that you see her existing. With nonchalance that is almost insolent. She has a biochemistry that you seem to be more aware of than your own. She'd made you analytical but your notes still read like poems. 

Two: Where you're going and where she's going are parallel lines. You will not share a point in time or space where there will be coffee and a chance to worry about oral hygiene. 

Three: Neuronal bridges of you do not exist. She is her own logic, well studied. You can neither add to nor change her axonims. You are not, as you have so fervently prayed, dormant in her mind, waiting for a moment of unexpected plasticity. You long to be déjà vu; to inhabit her as she inhabits you.

Four: You're lost without coordinates. The possibilities suffocate you. You don't realize that those possibilities are merely hallucinations. Outside of you there is no evidence of possibility and she remains unsolved. The hunger persists. Your infatuation has taken up purring and greeting you in doorways. 

Five: You have erred on the side of caution. And caution caught you in her arms and now you carry her baby; existential crisis. Who would have predicted that words could go that far? That they could be digested so thoroughly, absorbed and believed. 

Six: There's no one to talk to and I'm forced to bury my confusion in metaphors and tell you this story preceded the birth of the universe. 

Seven: You continue, audaciously, to hope.