Eng1007 P3 16 2b

I can calculate anything. Even the smallest possibility, make it a fact, make it real, make it so everything works the way I want, the way I need it to, always. Shelby I can calculate anything. The small things add up over time, the way bees make hives, the way birds build nests, the way stars form galaxies. But life refuses to add up like facts, like numbers, like data points. It becomes about the moments. A memory, a glance, a touch, a laugh. You find yourself valuing feelings over the spreadsheets. But that doesn't compute. It never will. And that's terrifying. But it's life. It's Shelby. I calculate everything, but I can't calculate her. I can calculate anything. Every letter, every word... Configuring the edges until they fall in line. But I can't calculate Shelby. No math has ever worked out that way.