i read the greatest love story in a book about string theory.

i did not understand the math, but the implications were clear enough. for every possibility, there is a separate universe. in one universe, perhaps Abraham Lincoln lived until he was ninety. in another, maybe dogs and cats can speak. in this idea, i found great comfort and great relief.

there’s a universe where things turned out differently for us.

there’s a universe where, right this second, we are laughing on a daybed. barely dressed.

there’s another universe where i just finished cooking you dinner. the dishes left in the sink for tomorrow.

and yet, another universe where i never once took you for granted.

another universe where you surprised me by proposing in front of friends and family. happy 28th birthday!

and next to that one, a timeline where i surprised you by proposing in front of your elementary school students. your face turned red and you cried.

another universe: three kids (two boys).

another universe: one kid (a girl).

another universe: a two-story house, attached garage, cul de sac, green lawn in the suburbs near Atlanta.

it is in these foreign, unseen places that i can feel myself right next to you. i can feel it when i sit in traffic and let my mind go there. i can feel it on the weekend nights when i can’t hold in the loneliness any longer. i think i feel it most when i feel the sun on my face in winter. i can feel how close we are, and that’s how i can stay happy. this universe – the one you’re reading this in – this universe could be the exception. we worked it out over and over again in other places, in other times.

i see you moving in slow motion. some times with great big tears in your eyes. some times in black and white.

3:02 am • 16 July 2016