The Infinite Pieces of Us

by Rebekah Crane

Complex Math Problem: If all things are matter, and matter takes up space, and space weighs something, why does Esther’s new house feel so empty even though it’s filled with crap?

Complex Math Problem: How do you solve the messes you can’t see? In other words—Is fitting in just covering up who you really are in hopes that people don’t notice?

With math, a question doesn’t exist without an answer. It’s a guarantee. If I work on a problem long enough, I will solve it.

“Color. That’s an interesting name.” “I know. It’s kind of weird. But my mom said that the world needs more color, and so she gave the world me, which is actually kind of beautiful.”

“You’ve never had coffee before?!” He leans out the window. “How do you survive?” He asks earnestly, so I answer the same way. “Barely. I barely survive.”

Complex Math Problem: If Dad doesn’t matter, and I’m made up of him, do I matter?

Complex Math Problem: When one broken piece joins together with another broken piece, is it considered whole again, even if the edges don’t match up perfectly?

trust is handing over a piece of your heart to someone and believing they’ll hold it as delicately as you do.

Life is simply better on coffee. That’s the truth.

She told me that being a parent meant being perpetually afraid that something might happen to the one thing you don’t want to lose. That every day you’ll worry and think about this possibility to the point of madness, until all that’s left is to throw your hands up and have faith that it’s all going to be OK.”

“You know what’s odd, Moss?” “What?” I smile. “Every other number.”