Dear Sir Isaac Newton
Dear Sir Isaac Newton,
I would just like to tell you that:
a) You are a genius. Unappreciated in your own time, renowned in mine. Don't ever let that go, no matter how happy you are in Heaven. Your ego can never swell enough to match the span of your accomplishments.
b) I would have liked to be that famous apple that whacked you in the noggin. Not because I would have liked to cause you pain. I'm not vindictive, I swear. I just would have liked to be able to boast that maybe I was the catalyst to a chemical explosion of epic proportions. That maybe I was the first domino in a chain of absolutely insane, absolutely unheard-of, absolutely lovely events. That maybe I did something worthwhile with this life of mine, instead of throwing pencils at my bedroom wall and fretting about the distance growing between the glaciers and whether or not they get lonely like I do as they float in silence and watch small pieces of themselves splinter and drift away.
c) Because of you, I have discovered a deep sympathy for reaction forces. (They're always getting pushed around by action forces. Luckily, they seem to have the sense to push back.) Because of you, I now have a great fascination with equal and opposite reactions (even though you're wrong: the reaction to anger is never opposite, although it is usually equal, and quite often overwhelming). Because of you, I have officially murdered my 97.6 GPA. It is now a 94.3. I have never been this informed in my life.
d) If you are sitting in Heaven reading this, I would like to request that you call God over and have him read this from behind your shoulder. I would like Him to know that if I can find the courage, I'd like to write Him a letter too. Only it might not be legible, because I might have cried all over it so the ink is smudged and smeared and splattered with all the sin I cling to because without it there's maybe nothing left in me.
e) I would also like to add, Sir Isaac Newton, that if you somehow backslid into Hell for giving the public false information, you can call the devil over to read this. I'd like to write him a letter too. I'd like to ask him to pleasepleaseplease leavemealone. Because I'm not strong enough for this, and I'm running out of pencils to throw at my wall.
Sincerely,
--A Lost and Lonely Glacier
I would just like to tell you that:
a) You are a genius. Unappreciated in your own time, renowned in mine. Don't ever let that go, no matter how happy you are in Heaven. Your ego can never swell enough to match the span of your accomplishments.
b) I would have liked to be that famous apple that whacked you in the noggin. Not because I would have liked to cause you pain. I'm not vindictive, I swear. I just would have liked to be able to boast that maybe I was the catalyst to a chemical explosion of epic proportions. That maybe I was the first domino in a chain of absolutely insane, absolutely unheard-of, absolutely lovely events. That maybe I did something worthwhile with this life of mine, instead of throwing pencils at my bedroom wall and fretting about the distance growing between the glaciers and whether or not they get lonely like I do as they float in silence and watch small pieces of themselves splinter and drift away.
c) Because of you, I have discovered a deep sympathy for reaction forces. (They're always getting pushed around by action forces. Luckily, they seem to have the sense to push back.) Because of you, I now have a great fascination with equal and opposite reactions (even though you're wrong: the reaction to anger is never opposite, although it is usually equal, and quite often overwhelming). Because of you, I have officially murdered my 97.6 GPA. It is now a 94.3. I have never been this informed in my life.
d) If you are sitting in Heaven reading this, I would like to request that you call God over and have him read this from behind your shoulder. I would like Him to know that if I can find the courage, I'd like to write Him a letter too. Only it might not be legible, because I might have cried all over it so the ink is smudged and smeared and splattered with all the sin I cling to because without it there's maybe nothing left in me.
e) I would also like to add, Sir Isaac Newton, that if you somehow backslid into Hell for giving the public false information, you can call the devil over to read this. I'd like to write him a letter too. I'd like to ask him to pleasepleaseplease leavemealone. Because I'm not strong enough for this, and I'm running out of pencils to throw at my wall.
Sincerely,
--A Lost and Lonely Glacier