If you know what you're doing,

math can be beautiful

… in a way.

it makes sense and the rules are

unceasingly steady and

sure and


equations always have answers,

even if – when – reality

only gives back half-baked replies.

suddenly zero and cumulative frequencies

and summations and Slovin's formula

seem more like a religion

than a science.

and, scientifically speaking, dreaming

is unrealistic.

how can i reach for the stars

when i can't even stay up in the air

for more than a few seconds

and the nearest stars are lightyears away.

and even if i do

manage to get up high into the atmosphere,

what's going to stop me

from burning to a crisp.

i've got big dreams but small palms

and i will never be able to

stretch these fingers of mine wide enough

to hold them all.

it just doesn't make sense for me

to still go on wishing



when the math is telling me

i'm wrong for holding out hope

for all these impossibilities

to come true.

but I'm not going to stop dreaming

because dreams

are wishes your heart makes

and this heart of mine doesn't know

want – to stop.

and, truth be told, if one is

to keep their sanity

they shouldn't go off dreaming.

for there is no room for

logic when you are

unmoored, ties untethered, and free

to go off chasing the