In the realm of numbers, the equation for love always transcends, provokes calm hurricanes neatly packed into devotion's solace.
Have we not seen the equations fold like origami hearts amidst the ashes of bygone conversations? They speak volumes in terms of silent desires, echoing like jazz notes fading into the night. Perhaps sympathy is unwritten poetry, an algebra of solace.
Every glance exchanged is a fraction recalibrating destiny, every embrace a variable quietly redefining warmth's golden ratio.
Consider those moments where isolation stretches taut across shared spaces; the unsolved enigmas of empathy linger hauntingly like a mist-drifted shore. It's within these soft, unspoken connections that nostalgia entirely resides, a calculus of longing and understanding spilled over faded parchment dance pages.