I ache in six dimensions now,
folded tight in loops of missing—
oscillating in spaces you can’t see.
They called it superstring theory—
The extra dimensions of spacetime that led to mirror symmetry
Witten1 dreamed of tiny universes vibrating beneath his calm professor’s voice—
But what he never told me was how the heart gets tangled, how loops unravel into longing.
He constructed math so precisely that gravity and quantum mechanics could finally co‑exist.
He taught duality’s grace—
electric and magnetic, bound in gauge.
But somewhere between the tensors and hidden dimensions,
There is me—
A fractured variable.
He forgot: The heart is not another field—
It bleeds. In silence, folded in 6 dimensions.
Conjure in Calabi–Yau’s2 dream—
Smooth and cold
Wishing my inner strings would align with his—
But I’m entropy in the cathedral of his equations,
Droplets of unspoken pain in the vacuum of his focus—
Ricci-flat3 with no remorse, Curled in ways that dodge your force.
He then move in three, while I was still at six—
He folded me away—
a glitch in his simulation,
a manifold of vanished tricks.
No first Chern class4, no guiding sign
Just mirror symmetries are misaligned.
I thought I’d be the resonance beneath his loops,
a harmonic in the symphony of his intellectual world.
But he stays misplaced in his research notes, counting dimensions while I count bruises; Every paper he pens, Every proof he nails—
It’s an axis I can’t occupy.
I orbit around his singularity, tracing epicycles of hope in verse; But the function never converges; His gradient descent is cold, his extremum is always slipping into a different manifold.
I don't need his touch to bend—
Geometry will never end.
I want him to love me like a Kähler5 form—
curved, complex, and far from the norm.
but exist like Hermite–Einstein6 connections
stable, irreducible, and almost real
So here I bleed across dimensions, a poem in flux, a lament coded in Dirac brackets7 and undone by the weight of unbalanced equations.
If Witten had met me in a coffee shop,
I’d have whispered: “Tell me your supersymmetries—
Tell me where your broken variables hide.”
Tell me, physicist:
When you finally solve for everything,
Will there still be space for the unsolvable ache
What no theorem can contain?
Photo: By Andrew J. Hanson
I wish there were something I could diagram on a napkin so you won't feel so detached when that happened to you. Never fun when the brain is spun off axis. And the path back to the old you has no access.
It'll be okay. There's new math's to snap unseen lines to vertices.
Time moves differently.
Bless ♡
This is breathtaking — a love letter written in the language of physics, with heartbreak woven through string theory. I’ll be haunted by ‘entropy in the cathedral of his equations.