I loved him like a science on one day but a religion the next.

Monday it was all test tubes and beakers. Numbers, calculated. Formulas laid out across a bleach white table. Eraser crumbs. Pencil shavings. Reworking, rewriting to make me make it make sense.

Tuesday’s a faded prayer. Whispered hopes. Nothing tangible to grab just staring out at a bronze sun like it rises at sets at his will. Heating up, an open flame rising and rising.

But by Wednesday it’s a Bunsen burner blazing. An argument of reds and blues and not much white. Blazing and overheating. I adjust the temp. I dial it back. You jot it down, you write me down.

Thursday you read me. Verse by verse. Sing each word like a chant. Notes in the margins of me. Lines smeared with yellow ink. I said there’s nothing to see. You said I’m missing the point entirely.

Friday’s toxic. The wrong solute in the wrong solvent. Poison fumes, choking me. Killing me. You said breath easy. You’re not choking. You said breathe slow, now. It passes. It fades.

The weekend’s lost to us. The weekend holds no faith. It offers no proof. It’s a blurs from here to there, needing no explanation. An artistic atheist painting abstract lines pointing everywhere and leading nowhere. We each follow a line, only to find one leads to purgatory. The other a black hole.

So, yes I loved him like a science. But like a religion all the same.

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