In another universe, you are still friends with your ex-husband. Your kids have playdates. You have found the good in each other, built something together, something real and good and not a marriage.
In another other universe, you are still friends with Tara from elementary and junior high, and your friendship survived the riptide of depression and teen angst.
In another other universe, you are still friends with Ashley, and you were wise enough at 7 (or whatever age it was) to stay in touch when you moved across the city.
Other universes, other selves, other relationships.
Family relationships. Friendships. Romances.
All these other universes.
And you think, in those other universes, you are a better person, to have kept those relationships, to have fixed those relationships, to have been good enough/kind enough/smart enough/loving enough/forgiving enough/fun enough/mentally stable enough/energetic enough/whatever enough.
How can you compete with alternate universe Tiffany?
That self has friendships from childhood!
That self has healed all of their relationships.
This self is just… well. I mean.
Not that.
Anyway. It’s hard to stay present right now.
I love you for trying.
I love your imagination, and how you imagine connection.
I love you for coming back to this universe no matter how difficult that is.
High fives, you.
High fives, me.
You are still a pretty okay person, even in this universe. Even with all the broken relationships in your history. Even with all the disconnections and the pain and the struggle. Even with all of that.
(And also, you never know what those Tiffanys in alternate universes long for. Maybe they have all of their relationships but they don’t have such badass coping skills? Maybe they wish they could tell terrible pun jokes? You just don’t know.)
Love,
Me
#100loveletters