If we come to think about it, memory is what life in every existent universe is about, if it’s there in the first place, of course. When every universe was created, it must have seem as it suddenly became distributed along structures, dancing within their gravitational fields, forming giant tendrils reaching out across the span of eternity. Supposing that there are multiple universes, we may form the belief that we, as characters, get to have a chance in a parallel universe to make things right, and fix whatever seems absurd in this life we’re living. It takes a lot of courage to realise that our existence is nothing but a pale dot, lost between the endless, panoptic blue. And it takes even more strength to snap out of the endless loop we’re stuck in, and see just how our very own, self -centred presence in every universe possible, doesn’t really matter that much as we’d desire it to, after all. Throughout our whole lives, we seek to give meaning to everything, because otherwise, our very personal fantasy of actually having it would become utterly destroyed. Indeed, true meaning, if found, will eventually become lost. But the whole point is reaching the point where meaning doesn’t even matter, yet it is still everything. Just like each and every one of us. Because in the end, it’s not even about having the meaning itself. It’s about remembering it through every age and separate universe.
The wind was blowing lightly against Ophelia’s face, messing up her undone hair even more. This kind of wind would have seemed much more like a soft breeze to Ophelia any other day, since she’d be looking at the tree leaves crumbling from her window, while in the comfort of her rusty sofa and old jazz records. But right now, it felt as if this mild wind would suddenly erupt and take everything with it in its passing. As if the most vigorous, wildest storm would suddenly burst, leaving the wind to control just how every single one, out of the million drops of rain, would fall on Ophelia’s now utterly phased face, ruining her dark hair once and for all, guiding her so far away, in such way she’d be able to reach the galaxy’s structures. She wishes that this wind could take her away at this very moment, so that she’d never have to make what would later become her most important decision. And point is, she was well aware of that. But the thing with Ophelia had always been that she was never good at neither staying, or leaving. And yet, here she was, finally remembering, and still looking at those five fingers grasping her with so much doubt it felt as if she’d collapse on the soft, safe ground at this very moment. She knew that it was her last shot. Her last chance to choose in which universe she’d fall into.
Ideally, when we make a decision, we get out of a building, and the picture freezes in a perfect frame, giving us a much needed happily ever after. But in reality, nothing freezes. Because you have to cross the street and go home. You have to cross the street and keep on living.
Cecilia was still standing right in front of the painting, admiring its unkept, yet astonishing beauty. She couldn’t even move, for that both the art and its creator were looking at her, waiting for more reactions. At last, she turns her stare towards Axel, only to respond to what she’d been looking at for this long with an affectionate kiss. This kiss wasn’t lustful in any way- it wasn’t even that erotic. It was one that screamed the unrequited, deep, and peaceful- yet with a dash of heartbreak- love, coming from her insides as the two mouths met. She could feel her insides burning as she was kissing him with her eyes shut. But for the first time in forever, she could feel them being wide open. In the snap of the moment, the two were dancing inside the painting, starting from the moon, and trying to reach every star, floating through the everlasting, illimitable universes. And in this very moment, she knew just the way she should exist.
Ophelia is still standing absolutely frozen, yet no voice can be heard, even if the body which produces it is standing right across her, holding onto her wrist tightly. It’s clear, and she can remember everything now, which brings her to the realisation that this is the exact reason why the thin mouth of the person across her remains shut. She remembers the summer he was standing right beside her, and how he held her hand. How these long, gleaming fingers that now begged her to make a choice were once holding even longer paint brushes and drew her the universe. How after that killer-stare at that ruddy event, and on her drive back home, she knew that she’d become forever changed. She remembers the calls, and the nights that followed, when the sky would be a blank canvas for two pairs of almost black eyes to paint on, looking at the clear, white Moon, which, the way these eyes saw it, appeared deep, dark black, solely from their reflection on it. Ophelia knew that the two of them were so damn different, but still same, for they were both truly, inescapably, dark. And she finally reminisces just how darker that bloody Moon got once the one pair of eyes was missing. Which is the one thing that now makes her absolutely aware of every “why” she has ever thought of. You see, when you need everything, you can’t share the sky. No moon, or even Sun, planet, or galaxy- even the entire universe will ever be enough. And this is what drowning felt like. But for the first time, it was the kind of drowning that when you hit the deep bottom of the sea, you could break the ground’s surface and become reborn, passing through the sand and sea shells onto what would seem another dimension. Onto what would seem another chance. Another world where everything would have been done differently.
If you think about it, absolutely nothing is programmed in these untidy, messy worlds, yet everything is, in its own way, in some kind of of order. Nothing even existed before choices. If we really look at it, the whole universe’s state is nothing but a collection of them. And so are we. When it comes to making a decision, the path that we will choose will be the one that will shape us forever. Even if that decision is getting out of the house to grab a pack of cigarettes, or one that seems impossible to even manage. We usually overthink every little decision we make in our small life span, even after we make it, reflecting whether it was right, or what could have been done differently, making us deeply unable to support our own peace of mind.
And as Ophelia is now truly drowning, she realises that this sort of “another dimension” exists only within her head. She has created characters all of her own to do what she was never capable of. Choosing something and sticking to it until the very end. Having Cecilia and Axel as her one and only getaway of the impeccable pain that has been her life this past year can no longer go on, that’s for sure. Because in the real world, you never get everything right. And in the real world, every second chance comes as a result of another first. Because even if these characters are two beautiful, bright, colourful people falling in love and making it, life doesn’t always work that way, and we learn to forgive ourselves for it not working out according to plan, and embracing every single choice, as well as every single unexpected outburst. Because when we create an ideal within our heads, we actually believe that we can reach it, and tend to forget that it doesn’t even exist.
Because that’s what life is. A short trip full of unexpected moments that take your breath away. And there is absolutely nothing we can do about it.
Ophelia, now completely on her own, finally lets go of that ruddy hand, throwing it away once and for all, and starts to run as fast as possible. She can see her tiny house waiting for her, its door still wide open, and the front porch so welcoming, but starts, in her own surprise too, to run even faster, almost as if she has reached the speed of light once and for all. She can feel this indescribable form of salvation running through her veins, as she is running faster and faster, and opening her eyes to witness the impeccable, astonishing light of the Sun. She slows down a bit, only to let the light slowly enter her already burned insides, but doesn’t stop to run at all. She laughs loudly, as tears start to pour down from her cheeks, washing all the darkness away. She doesn’t have a single clue where she’s going, and absolutely no idea on what’s next, as she starts running on a path she has never seen before.
There is hope in every universe, after all.
Author: Ioanna Vargianiti
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