If two angles of one triangle are similar to two angles of another triangle, then the triangles are similar.
Recalling the memory of His geometry makes me sick with longing. That's the real reason I don't call Him every night, don't spend hours stuttering out words onto paper in some tremulous imitation of a love letter. The space I have behind conversation and human interaction is where He really lives, ready for me any time I need to remember. I don't even have to close my eyes before His own stare back at mine, revealing the storm clouds and stars that hover around His midnight-black pupils. The angles of His eyebrows, the slope of His nose, the arches of His eyelashes, the degrees of His gait, the radius of His smile when He sees me, the surface area of His strong embrace; sometimes the formulas back me into a corner where I try to understand, try to meticulously calculate every possible equation. I never solve for the answer before I snap out of my stupor, realizing His abs