The Reality of You & I
[For you hopeless romantics out there]
“Do you believe that alternate realities exist? Like, right now, there’s another you in another timeline in another universe with a whole different life?,” my brother asks me in a series of questions as I hopelessly flip through the local channels on our TV in the living room.
I put down the remote.
The channel falls on some random telenovela series, where this guy is reciting some cheesy poem to a woman in a cliché effort to woo her.
“No,” I simply say.
I say it quick, just to dismiss the discussion.
But, in reality, it’s a desperate attempt to dismiss my own thoughts.
My thoughts still linger.
What I actually want to say is:
I hope that alternate universes do exist.
So that somewhere, someplace, some time,
I could be with you.
So that I could run my hands
through your brown messy hair.
Or so that I could just stare
into your beautiful green eyes.
Or so that I could elicit
one of those contagious laughs of yours,
Or just listen to your warm voice
as you rant about your day at work.
I hope there’s a universe out there
where I chose you.
Where I could just go up to you casually,
and say “I want you.”
Where that small action
would lead you to also want me.
And that would be the beginning, middle, and end of it.
And that would be the forever of it.
I never had trouble separating emotion from logic
until I met you.
Until I knew that I wanted to be with you.
I hope there’s a universe out there
where differences didn’t matter.
Where I didn’t have to leverage or choose
the least tragic of ramifications
for choosing heart over mind
or mind over heart.
Otherwise, I’d just choose heart
every single time.
Then again, differences are beautiful.
And the difference I see in you is breathtaking.
My mind always wanders to the idea of you,
a beauty so foreign to anything I’ve ever seen.
I hope there’s a universe out there
where I wasn’t afraid of you,
or us.
Where I could pour out my whole self
and not worry about the recoil.
And if I got bit, it was fine.
Because, at least, the pain was from
trying to get to know you.
Oddly enough, there’s a comfort in that pain.
Maybe that pain would make me feel more alive —
it is from you, after all.
Maybe I’d like it.
I hope there’s a universe out there
where you could see what I see,
and hear what I hear,
and feel what I feel,
so then you’d know how perfect
I think you truly are,
and know that the flaws that frustrate you
are polished qualities other women try so hard to attain.
I wish you could know how much you mean to me,
and how truly beautiful you are,
both inside and out.
Sometimes,
I think that you lack nothing.
Sometimes,
I feel like I’d do anything for you.
That sounds crazy, I know,
but that’s how I feel —
all the time.
I hope there’s a universe out there
where you are just happy —
with or without me.
The latter would be painful and hard,
but I’d find solace just to know
that you’re smiling somewhere,
even if that somewhere is nowhere near me.
Maybe it’s selfish of me to think that way —
because I’m not all sure if I want it more for myself
or for you.
Probably for you.
But just knowing that you’re happy,
I guess, is all I could really wish for —
“Why not?!” my brother finally asks me as he breaks the barrier of silence,
interrupting my internal monologue.
I glance at the TV.
The man now has the woman wrapped in his arms as a Spanish love song plays gently in the background.
I begin to think about her more and more.
I start to get this warm feeling mixed with this dull pain inside of my heart. It’s that type of feeling where you have something but then you don’t.
I squint my eyes as the right combination of words struggle to form from my scatterbrained lips.
“Because it hurts to think about what could be real and not experience it,” I finally say, “and besides, it’s easier to just live in ignorance than to live with the pain of knowing and not having.”
“Is it?,” he asks in disbelief.
“No, but that’s what I tell myself… and I turned out fine, right?,” I say half-jokingly with a perfected, camouflaged smile as I get up from the couch.
I go downstairs and grab my running shoes.
Opening the front door, I take a glance outside.
It’s a nice day outside.
The rain pounds the concrete driveway in a relentless rage.
I don’t believe in alternate realities, but sometimes, I wish I did.
I run onto the sidewalk, and the rain slowly engulfs me.
An alternate reality sounds nice.
As I travel into the distance, I think about her some more.
And I think about how much I love her.
So no, I don’t believe in alternate universes or realities or what-ifs.
But if this is the only reality I have,
Maybe I’ll run to her after all.
Happy Valentine’s Day, ya beautiful animals
