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crowded with people, but noone looks at me
I’m alone in company
have no place to go
The computer was a square shape. It contrasted quite a bit from anything that would call the eye. It was straight, almost authoritative, and unyielding. However, it is a computer that made me feel better than anything I could have ever needed. Instead of feeling like I was being shut in, I felt more freedom with that little square than anything I’ve ever had.
Four sides. Equilateral. Each angle is precisely 90 degrees for a total of 360 degrees.
Be there or be square.
What does it mean if a person is “square”?
I’m not sure where we went sideways. I thought we were all square. I think I may have been a bit premature in my judgement. Now we’re in a shit storm of epic proportion.
His jaw was so square that even a sculpture couldn’t couldn’t chisel that on a statue. his features were so defined and naturally perfect to the very point.
A sand box is square. A square has 4 sides that are the same length, four right angles and every square is 360 degrees.
perfect. congruent sides. geometry. shape. math. two dimensional. plane. simplest shape. squoval.
a box. square edges. sharp, pointed, harsh, unforgiving. they all fit together perfectly with no qualms or mishaps. they all look the same. square after square after another brick in the wall. nothing original. everything is the same. dull, unextraordinary.
All squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares. Subsets and supersets. A = B, but B =/= A.
I don’t know how to handle you sometimes. Math was never my strong suit.
a box. enclosed. binding. sharp edges. they all fit together in neat little packages. every one the same. same shape. no variation. dull, forgettable squares.
“I’m hip to yo’ jive honky ass.” stated Tulip.
Frederick realized that he was irrevocably square.
They squared off, circled each other, and then, in a blinding instant, one of them threw the first punch. It was like lightning, and the blood that came spurting out of his opponent’s nose…
a box of smoe sort. has 4 edges. but i couldnt just sit there inside of it. blocked by all of its walls like a jail cell.
you act like everything’s a square when it’s a circle. life has no rough edges, just moments when you realize you’re rushing around its curve. corners are lazy and corners are pointless and self-absorbed. circles are endless awareness. it’s a lot to take in i guess.
The square is just like another circle, but a little messed up. You shouldn’t hate it just because it’s different. Squares are just like people, some have more than 4 corners, while others are secretly rectangles.
id rather be a circle than a square. or a spiral. imagining if i was a square doesnt seem like much fun. doesnt seem to have much room for imagination. i feel like i would lose my creativity in those corners of that square. no thankyou ~ circle is fine for me
I met him in the square. It was a Wednesday. I had met him there years ago, when we both teenagers. That day had been sunny, hot, humid. I was sticky and could feel the sweat running down my neck and then between my breasts. The cobble stones in the square were worn, bleached to almost no colour. And when he kissed me, I felt as if I was drowning. Today, it’s overcast and grey…the cobblestones look like worn charcoal, the stone fountain is grey and grimy. Even the pigeons, which are always here, are grey with no hints of the beautiful irridescence that always catches my eye. This square, where everything began with such passion and hope is where today things end. Quietly, sadly, without hope.
The last time I saw her was on a spring morning. She was standing on a city square intoxicated with the nature that was waking up with every single second that passed. She always loved nature.
A square is everywhere. They make up most of what we see in everyday life, like this laptop I use, or the keys I’m currently punching into right now, are square. There are cups and mouses that are square, and everything in between.
Circle. Triangle. Oval. Rectangle. His pudgy hands slid the plastic shapes across the toy’s surface, searching for a fit. His mother watched patiently as he repeatedly slammed each shape in impatiance.