Imagination of our love.

There was a Universe in which you and I worked out.

It’s not this Universe, obviously.  But there’s a Universe in which we chose differently. In that Universe, I like to think that we are clasping onto one another’s hands on an airplane headed to anywhere.

You’re kissing my forehead while we stand in line at customs; I’m falling asleep in your arms in the cab ride home.

I let myself be free in that Universe, in the distinct way that only you seem to know how to be.
Because the thing is, your soul is barely human. You are the first rays of sunshine exploding through the curtains in the morning. You are fresh fruit and ocean breezes and wide-open stretches of sky. You are endless days of summer. You are infinities.

And in some other life, I choose to be all those things alongside you. I like to think that other-you and other-me are happy.

I like to think that it’s the sunniest day of the summer every day when I am with you in that other-verse, even when the rain comes pouring down.

I like to think that through the messes, the destructions, the chaos and calamity and troubles that the other-us’s would inevitably face, they keep choosing to stick it out anyway. They keep choosing each other. They keep choosing the kind of happiness that spills out of the edges of the whole world every morning that we wake up together.

And some third-party version of myself is, perhaps, thoroughly dejected that none of this worked out. Some version of the person I could be spends eternity lamenting over the life that you and I never chose – turning it over in her indecisive fingers and letting the weight of regret become an anvil.

But I’m not that version of myself in this Universe. I don’t have to stay clutching onto other-you and me. I’m happy to simply let them go.

I’m simply happy knowing that there’s a world out there in which you and I could have been outrageously, tremendously happy. I simply like to know that those holes in the patchwork of reality exist.
-happinessfeltinotheruniverse