What is the significance per cell that will fall
over the course of 7 years until you will have a body he will never have
Write a balanced equation representing a universe
where you never loved him, and a universe you loved him enough that you could
have been denied this scorched earth heartbreak. Take into account the finite
purpose of the pain at play.
State any two methods for calculating the density
of the light that streams from the voids he left within you.
Examine the function of attempting to comprehend
the willingness with which he hurt you (immediately after, and weeks later, and
weeks later again, and again, and again.)
Define: the violence involved in not realizing the
last time you ever saw him was going to be the last (hint: there is an agony in
the denial of him from all your senses that your soul will revolt against.)
What is the weight of all the photographs of the
London dawn on his lips that remain in your smartphone?
Articulate a quantum theory of forgetting. Can a
memory of the tenderness remain real if it exists in your mind and not his?
Write a nursery rhyme to this prompt: I will tell my children the terrible things
you did to me while I was still in love.
Bonus: there are other worlds left to
explore. This is your task should you choose to accept it: you have left one
religion behind. you can leave this one too.
You have a
lifetime to complete (although it is strongly advised to not use all your time
on this examination.) (There are so many other lessons left to learn.) (It is
the board’s recommendation to leave this examination unanswered completely.)
The Dawn Machine:
Nomad, could you wait for me till I ascend the Neath?
Of course I could, Dawnie. You know I could.
The Dawn Machine:
Yes, I felt it instinctively, but I couldn’t wait all that time. I hate waiting even five minutes for anybody. It always makes me rather cross. I am not punctual myself, I know, but I do like punctuality in others, and waiting, even to be married, is quite out of the question.