What if, in another universe, I deserve you?
Hear me out. There’s this philosopher from the 1890s named William James, and he coined this theory about “the multiverse” which suggests that a hypothetical set of multiple universes comprises everything that can possibly exist simultaneously.
Are you following? The entirety of space, time, matter and energy is all happening at once in different timelines: It’s the idea of parallel universes. Right? So okay, let’s presume the multiverse is real.
Well then, maybe somewhere in those infinite universes is one, or several, where I deserve you.
Maybe there’s a universe out there — happening now — where we end up together and when I close my eyes at night, I’m not dreaming the way a normal person would. Instead I’m seeing flashes of our lives in the multiverse. They’re not simple dreams because I miss you, right? They’re scientific, anachronistic visions.
In this universe, I don’t want a family, but maybe in another, I’m more of the type to settle down. Maybe there’s a universe where you hold my hand while I give birth to our daughter in a white hospital room with pink flowers and fuzzy teddy bears on the window sill. Where we take family vacations and pose for dorky pictures in our neon bathing suits on the sands of a Florida beach. Where we curl up to watch a cheesy movie at the end of a long day in our big, green, suburban house once the kids have fallen asleep.
Maybe there’s a universe where we are middle-aged and taking our child to college and bickering over where to put her dresser or what posters she should hang up. Where you kiss her on the forehead ‘goodbye’ and we drive home in contented, proud silence, your fingers grazing my knuckles, our wedding rings glistening. Where we both have gray hair and we laugh and smile and hug and drink lemonade on the porch.
Maybe there’s a universe where that’s the life I want. Where I don’t second guess everything and I’m not afraid of commitment and of the future and of love. Maybe there’s a universe without all the noise in my head and the pride that makes me so fiercely independent and the coldness in my heart that I can turn on and off like a security fence.
Maybe there’s a universe where I’m the right person for you. Where I adore every nice thing you did for me without starting to resent you. A universe where you actually end up with someone who appreciates you. Where no one becomes a doormat. Where both of us can shed our baggage and curiosity and issues. A universe where we’re happy — without wondering if that happiness is some messed-up Jenga game ready to topple at the slightest quiver. A universe where we’re comfortable and sure, and we have cats.
Maybe there’s a universe where we fall asleep next to each other every night like spoons, like two innocent bunnies — my face buried in your neck, hugging your warmth — and we both don’t want anything or anybody else. Where we don’t want more, we just want each other.
Maybe there’s a universe where I don’t covet so much all the time and where I’m content and where I don’t wonder about picking up and moving to Japan without saying anything to anyone and where at this very juncture, I can just know I’ll always want to come home and cook dinner with you.
If you think of it all this way, then it’s like neither of us did anything wrong.
You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline. Everywhere else, nay, “everywhen” else — us in the Civil War, us in Ancient Egypt, us in the swinging ’60s — we are happy.
If this theory holds, well, by the law of averages, there had to be one universe — just this one — where we don’t end up together. Here and now just happens to be it. If you think of it this way, nothing is our fault.
So see, that explains everything. We’re not together anymore because of the multiverse.
Well, isn’t that comforting?
If you’re sad, do like I do and just think of the other ‘verses. The ones where I believe in love and where I don’t hate myself and where I never feel the need to kamikaze relationships. A universe where we can have nice things. It’s helpful, right?
Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you.
modern day tolkien elves
modern day elves getting away sleeping in the classroom with their eyes open
modern day elves straightening each other hair
modern day elves wearing flip flops in the snow
modern day elves shooting with compound bows
just modern day elves
I know it. I also know not-being-straight is already hard.
What I mean today, is that being asexual is the weirdiest thing you can be. It is hard to discover it, I think it is harder when you haven’t. But people is always pissing off, you know, they ask about your sexual life like they care (and they don’t!), and when you feel confident enough to come out and tell some one, they just think you are confused, that you haven’t discovered yourself. Others think you are just kidding. Some even think you are homosexual or bisexual and you don’t want to accept it.
One of my friends one time told me I should see a psychiatric, because it is not healthy when you don’t enjoy sex. And then, here comes the harder part to explain to others: I’m not traumatized because of childhood harassment, I don’t feel pain when having sex, I don’t have anorgasmia, I’m not even a virgin, I’ve had sex before, I enjoyed it (oh, dear, I did), I’m just not interested in having sex regularly as most of people are (some even describe sex as a human necessity). It is hard when you are in a relationship, and you partner doesn’t know that you are asexual, they need sex, but you are just not interested, even if it’s an “stable” relationship. You can make an effort to please them, but it is almost sure he/she won’t make an effort to understand you. But I’ll make a post about being asexual and relationships later. People usually understand that you like having sex with your same gender, or all of the genders, but it is hard for them to understand that you don’t like to have sex, and that it is not a choice you made, you were born like that, and you will always be like that.
It is hard to explain what happens in your head (or your pants), when even you have just discovered it.
No recuerdo que fecha fue exactamente…
Pero se cortó el cabello.
El hecho es que si alguien me gusta, y tiene el cabello largo, hay un 98% de posibilidades de que me deje de gustar cuando se corte el cabello.
Probablemente se acabó ésta sección de mi blog. Por ahora.