Why do we have to keep destroying worlds and creating a separate dimension of our selves— a parallel existence where we either don’t exist to hurt each other, or a divergent reality where we never caused one another pain?
For every time we break someone’s heart, each sliver reflects a broken shard of possibility. Each piece as sharp and painful and yet as beautiful in its own broken way. Just imagine the number of what-could-have beens each hold— a virtual kaleidoscope twisting our own present reality into a fractal of visual emotions, converging and diffusing into incoherent thoughts and dreams.
“How are you?” I casually ask in one shard.
“I’m sorry,” I say in another— and you forgave me easily. But the next shard shows how you ignored me; its own splinter cracks cast a myriad of possible reasons why you did.
And still, the countless probabilities of words said and unsaid clamor in these small section of my multi-reality; I even haven’t factored in the variables of action, inaction, as well as reactions.
All I could do is stand at the verge of this universe I’m trapped in— the apex from which the cracks of this reality emanate. I stand, and helplessly watch as we continue to exist without one another, doing fine and living normally. Except it shouldn’t be. Everything within me cries of tampered reality. That I have wrongly been relocated into this universe where we phase through each others lives without as much a rustle— or at least, for you.
I wish you could have simply asked for space, as long as we stayed in the same dimension.
I wish you could have simply asked for time, as long as we existed together in the present.
I wish I could read, hear and comprehend this language of silence with which you fluently enjoyed to use on our conversations. It was the one thing that was constant in every dimension of my imagination— that incalculable depth of what you’re trying to tell me without words.
And here I am, talking to no one and nothing.
Maybe there’s a separate world out there where you can hear me, or would choose to listen to me. But really, I’d rather be in that dimension where I could just understand and listen to your heart and mind, or even to that distant melody of your own melancholic soul.
And maybe… maybe, this is that very world— and I’m just too me and you’re just too you, that we end up being this us that keep causing worlds to collide and create pockets of separate dimensions where I’m not as annoying, or you’re not as cold.
How are you?
I miss you.
Want to eat?
Where are you?
I can’t hear you.
I can’t be near you.
See you soon.
Who’s been using my blog???
Oh look, a falling star.