Derivations

I used to think that life was full of variables.
A public school or a private one? Hobbies? Art and books and the unending fascination with taking things apart; everything is puzzles. Everything is math! Even love, there for the taking when you’re young and rich and reasonably good-looking.
Only math doesn’t stop at high school level. It gets more complicated; you stumble over convergences (Yorick, that’s you) and limits (that morning, the Sun pulling giddy us out of the house) and you fall face-first into derivations.
In the end, there is a constant. And the only constant is death.