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No,it’s not 50-50

He is a scientist, and I am a poet. He gives logic to everything and I feel every moment and drown in thoughts about love and life. He loves number and I play with words.
But yes, we both have one thing in common— we love stars. While he gazes at the night sky and talk about constellations, galaxies and nebula, I make him realise, on his bad days, how huge but beautiful the vault of heaven looks and how minuscule all our sadness and worries looks in front of the universe. We are all tiny universes within, made up of infinite energies and a billion little things.
“My love for you is as huge as the universe”, I said satirically as I saw him reading an astrophysics book on Valentine’s day instead of showering rose petals on me.
“Measure it. Prove it”, he replied mocking me.
“Well, how huge is the universe?”
“Huge, vast are small words. It’s—”
“How do you know that? Even if you say it’s 93 billion light years, you should know that they are talking about the observable universe. It’s size is beyond that. How do you know if it’s really huge?”
“Well, I know that it is. There are theories and things”, he replies.
“They are just theories, Mister. Prove it.”
“Yes, but we assume it’s true. The observatories, the satellites send us images. It’s huge. Sure, it’s just the observable universe but everybody knows that it is bigger than the pictures. That’s something I know for sure.”
“And so is my love for you. It’s bigger than the poems. It’s more than what you can see. I can’t prove it, but I know it deep inside me. Everybody knows it. But do you?”
He looks at me and kisses my head.
“You, writers, just manipulate people with fancy words”, he whispers.
I have been a crazy head always and he was the polite and nice one around. On one occasion, I got filthy drunk and punched a lady for talking non sense about me. He took me home and sat on the bed with a frown(which I find irresistibly cute on most days).
“When are you going to stop being so irrational?”, he asked me angrily.
I laughed again and took a mathematics book in my hand.
“I don’t know Mathematics but John Nash said that variables are impossible to assign any rational values. I can’t stop being irrational so I guess, I am a variable”, I said as I lied on the bed.
He laughed loudly and looked at me and said, “How did I end up with someone like you?”.
“Isn’t it nice?”, I asked.
“It’s the best”, he replied.
We fought a lot on some days and I realized that love was never 50-50. Some days he was a 10 and I was 90 and some days he was 80 and I was a 20. But we were a 100 at the end of the day, and that is all that matters.
He came up to me one day and asked me to fly away with him. We bought a home together. Once, we were sitting on the couch and he suddenly looked like he was thinking about something.
“You are the only reason I wake up everyday”, he said.
“Aha, mushy gushy lines? Are you becoming a writer these days?”
He held me tight and looked straight into my eyes.
“Hey, how do I know if we are going to last forever? How do I know if we are sure about us?”, he asked me.
“Aren’t you always curious?”
“Isn’t it nice?”, he asked.
“It’s the best”, I replied.
We laughed and I sat on his lap and cupped his face.
“Well, we aren’t sure. There are a million possibilities of change. Rivers, season, direction of storms, people; nothing remains the same. Time never stays.
That’s why we, humans, are never sure of anything. And you see, that’s the only sure thing we know.”
He smiles and nodded his head in agreement.
“Well then, I have to ask you something that you need to be sure of”, he says with a sigh.
“And what’s that?”
Bending his knee he asks, “Will you marry me?”
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