I wrote this a while ago, and nearly forgot about it. Found it in an old forum I no longer post in:
Like every day, I've spent most of today doing math. Sheet upon sheet black with ink, dusty green chalkboards covered in arcane symbols; definitions and theorems that are far too elaborate to explain. For the first time in a while I remembered: I cannot convince myself that any of this is real. There are no infinite collections or compact spaces in the real world. There is no finite axiomatization for life. This is all meaningless symbols on paper.
You, however, are real. Your breath, your eyes, the taste of your lips, are ever so beautifully, painfully real. You have meaning-- you mean everything. But reality and meaning...
They scare me. Far, far too much. There is no reason, no logic behind it, but I am afraid. So I will stay in my fantasy world. I will miss you terribly, but infinity is easier to deal with than love.
Arbtirary thoughts on nearly everything from a modernist poet, structural mathematician and functional programmer.
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