You are the beautiful distress of mathematics. For you I would peel open the clouds like new fruit and give you lightening and thunder as a dowry. I would make the sky shed all of its stars, light and rain and I would clasp the constellations across your waist and I would make the heavens your cape and they would be pleased to cover you. They would be pleased to cover you. May I please cover you?
(Source: aroseinthebarrelofanak47, via littlelibs)