Before the Big Bang, I lived in the run-down shack on the corner of Void Street and Abyss Road. You lived down the block, several billion light years away, but since time does not exist yet I could visit whenever I wanted.
Before the Big Bang, all the matter to exist ever was concentrated in a little ball of light the size of a marble. I used my father’s power tools to drill a hole through it and I strung it on a necklace and hung it on your apartment doorknob.
The next time I saw you, we had a picnic in the pitch black. Between our theoretical peanut butter sandwiches (nothing exists yet), you told me I was your best friend, and I knew it was because I was the only other matter of existence. I wished Prometheus was here to sculpt you something new and fresh and better at texting.
13.8 billion years later and I have gotten no better despite the countless opportunities I have been given to improve.I have lived millions of lives, as have you, in millions of forms and yet we are still unhappy with each and every single one we are given. Now we expect to be born disappointed.
13.8 billion years later and I have gotten no better! But I am not surprised we orbited back to each other after the expansion. I’m just happy the exploding marble did not appear to injure you too badly, and your eyes shined brightly enough for me to know you wore the necklace when it happened.
I’m still stuck in the old times before it all happened, the whole thing. I can’t wrap my brain around the idea of time like I could wrap my arms around all the galaxies and solar bodies that built up your celestial soul. I personally choose not to believe in change. It did not exist when I was a kid. ▲
