...as fictitious as
As a child I was intrigued. Once someone told me there not real they don't have feelings, their just placeholder there for us to use in this way. It made me want to dig deeper.
Over the years I loved being the fly on the wall; watching my pencil develop relationships, and tearing them apart. ...dividing them, subtracting them sometimes even mashing them in my book if I felt I hadn't put them through enough already. Many couldn't understand my passion, they couldn't see what I saw, and feel for them in the way I felt for them.
I excelled in the art; I felt I was not a mathematician but a numeristic voyeur. ...but it always left me wanting more. I kept absorbing new fields, multiplication, algebra, Geometry, until I reached something I never wanted to reach.
I used to stop when I would get the square root of something, feeling I had seen enough, but I needed new ground... I needed to push further. I went to the teacher and decided I wanted to put the extra time in today to see what we could do beyond this, and push my desires into a new realm.
As we began I was on the edge of my seat, I couldn't get enough it was like it was soaking right into my bloodstream and giving me a high. I watched the pencil chart into new territories, and I saw and felt things I had never experienced before. There was a new symbol a lonely "i" I didn't know what it was I had to ask. What's with the "i" pointing at it and looking right into their face. They said with a smile knowing that they had just uncovered a new area for their best student, "It's imaginary."
I paused, "imaginary?" They nodded "then what does that make the rest of them?"
"As real as you or I..." they replied as the world went black.