There is a certain advantage in your absence. I cannot tell how much time has passed since you've been gone. All I know is what time you went, your last timestamp. So, every time I wonder if it has been some time, I have to calculate it from the now and then. Eventually, I'm getting better at simple arithmetic. In fact, by the time the shopkeepers dish out their calculators to calculate how much did the milk cost, or how much must I pay for bananas, or the groceries, I've done the math, and like an impatient student, I'm waiting for the examiner to announce the answers so I may cross check mine.
Not just addition and subtraction, I'm getting better at multiplication too. I can now tell what twenty-four sixes are. They're 144, by the way. Just that you may know.
But there are some things that I absolutely don't understand. For instance, why should I be reminded of you? And even when I know that its intensity is a monotonously decreasing function, I don't know its exact nature. Is it linearly decreasing, or exponentially decreasing? Neither do I understand why it is amplified by merely dwelling in remembrances?
I guess one must not know everything. Such a being (or God) must be very hard to please. Or too easy, who knows what knowledge could do to its rightful owners.
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