You, a physicist.
Me, a philosopher.
You say that everything is made up of atoms and molecules. I say everyone is made up of poems and stories.You tell me there is no source of darkness in this universe. There is only the presence of light and the absence of it. I tell you the same about hatred. There is only the presence of love and the absence of it.You educate me about black holes, goes on to explain how real it is, and why it sucks everything into it. I educate you about depression. I warn you depression is real, it should never be taken lightly and explain how it sucks the happiness of a person.You start blabbering about the universe. How it started from a single point, then the big bang causing its expansion, but one day it shall stop and begin to converge until the whole universe becomes a point again. I have only two words for you. Life. Death. And everything in-between that.You tell me the shooting star is actually the death of a star and I tell you, if you see one, make a wish. I can confirm that it works because my wish is currently arguing with me.You smile and point out it was the lack of friction that made me fall the other day. I tell you it was your smile, that damned smile made me fall head over heels.You smile again, walk towards me with open arms and whisper “I am attracted to you” in my ears. I ask you if that attraction is due to gravity? You tell me to shut up and hug you back.


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