“…in an infinite universe, anything that could be imagined might somewhere exist.”
Each moment splits into its possibilities, minutely different life paths, and new Universes form. There is one where I call but you let it ring and ring into voicemail and I never call back. In another, I do. A Universe where you pick up, and I make you laugh. Another where you pick up and I make you cry.
One where you pick up and we both laugh and cry and I jump into my car and drive to your place and knock on your door until you open it in your bathrobe, your eyes confused, but the look on my face calms you and I hold you close, feel you sink into my arms, the weight of the world gone.
A Universe where Elvis marries us in a Vegas chapel while Marilyn Monroe giggles behind the organ. A Universe where your father walks you down to me on the beach and I take you to be mine. A Universe where we move to Fiji, live to the sound of the waves, the ocean breeze on our faces. And when we lie out on the sand, and the moon comes through the clouds, full and blooming, we wrap close around each other and there is no need to say anything because we know.
A Universe where our little girl has your eyes and my wild hair and she and I chase you, her on my shoulders, laughing and laughing, until we catch you. A Universe where it’s a boy.
A Universe where I die first and you take my ashes and spread them over the ocean, the spot where we were married. A Universe where you go and when I return from the hospital, I lock myself into a room and bang on the walls and cry.
A Universe where you get 50%, I get 50%, and the lawyers get 90%. A Universe where we never met. A Universe where I talked to your friend instead of you. A Universe where I gave you the wrong number by accident and never saw you again.
I tried counting them all, but kept having to learn new numbers. Now, when I think of them, each moment splitting into its various possibilities, of what could have been or what should be, I know it’s all occurring, it’s all happened and will happen, each version then splitting into its own possibilities and that splitting and, oh, wow.
The beauty of creation spins its dance on and on and on.