wormholes
the children were worms. a tangle
of wriggling limbs on the ground.
even after I left, I saw them
on the wall, on the floor, on my closed
eyelids
and, as I watched, they bored holes.
the light and the shadows of other dimensions
Get letters from youna’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
pooling
on every surface. and, through those holes,
I saw the parallels, the destinations of our choices.
I don’t want to be anywhere else than where I am, I thought.
yet somehow knowing that, on the other side, in another timeline,
I feel the exact same.
isn’t that funny? that we are so situated in our own living,
we forge our own satisfaction out of it. like it’s a possession of ours
saying look, I made this life. it is mine. all the blood, sweat, and tears
must have counted for something.
