They wanted an
equation.
Children of industry;
grown fat in military quantities.
Measure us, they said.
How tall? How fast? How many? How much?
Tell us the breadth of
our reach; the completeness of our dominance.
Excessive in their self-evaluation. Stingy in their trust and will to
partnership.
But a relationship is not an equation. Except that it sums to zero when
you invest money, and demand faith as compound interest.
The only machine you can purchase here is fed by coins and its cogs
will stop when the lucre fails, or easily change hands with a higher bidder.
This is a marriage, a dance. Not a game. Not an equation. I trust you, when we run up a
mountainside together, chanting in the African heat, trust that you will bring
me safely down again.
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