Do you think other worlds exist? Do you think they’re trying to talk
to you right now? What if our hair grew out in crystals? I wish the
truth didn’t matter as much as being loved. I had a moment today where
I didn’t want to move, talk, or blink because something was so
beautiful. A naked baby, a corrugated metal shack, a bed frame cris
crossed by ties to suspend him. miles and miles rolling green hills
delineated by little rows of tiny green sprigs. A cow, with turquoise
painted horns tied to a tiny apostrophe of a tree. Colorful trash
spewed brazenly everywhere. The rain somehow saturating every color. I
had this feeling of comprehension, a bursting in my chest, an idea. I
had an understanding of this but didn’t KNOW. I was witnessing
vignette that will never be my reality. Due to whatever genetic
factors or mix-ups at the stork factory, I’ll never know what it feels
to live in that tableau, or in fact what it feels like to be anything
else than what I am. Other worlds do exist. It has nothing to do with
quantum physics or wormholes or Steven Hawking or anything! I couldn’t
speak or move or cry or do anything in that moment. All I could do was
hold my breath to keep this idea inside of me, to smother it, to make
it smoulder in my belly. Not to let it escape, so no one would catch
it, I felt it may kill them all slowly. In Mandu there was this
beautiful palace, shaped like a ship with fearless technology and
kingdoms for leagues, dispite this everyone was killed in the plague.
Sometimes something so beautiful and enticing (like a secret) can hold
terrible events. I hope somewhere there is another world where all the
beds are made of bread and white fabric and a creek where someone can
hold your hand under almond trees. You could whisper this secret that
has been giving you acid reflux for months to that person, and he
would shake is soft quilted face that he understands. And maybe even
kiss you, if you’re lucky.
