Equation to my poetry

She lived in a world of numbers, where every question had a clear answer. Her mind moved in straight lines, solving equations with precision, While mine wandered through the forests of words, Twisting and turning in metaphors, searching for meaning where none was certain. She could balance an equation in seconds, But my poetry, with its tangled emotions and ambiguous endings, Was something she never tried to solve. We were like parallel lines, always moving side by side, Close, but never touching—never intersecting. Her fingers tapped out formulas on a calculator, While mine traced lines of verse on paper. She searched for a solution to every problem, But I was content to live in the unsolved mysteries, Lost in the beauty of the unknown. In the end, we were different languages— Her equations, my poetry— Each beautiful in its own right, But speaking to different parts of the universe.