My physics teacher told me that the fabric of space-time is already predetermined. That no matter where we are on our timeline, we have a set past and a set future.
So I asked him why we’re traveling forwards and not backwards. And he said we might not be. We might be traveling backwards, from stars being born to supernovae collapsing, from the end of the universe to the dawn, and we wouldn’t know the difference.
Why do we believe we are moving forwards then?
Our memories, he answered. They only move in one direction, only remember one part of our timeline, and I can’t help but imagine if my life would turn out differently if I could know my future. Would I still trust you, love you, and hold you as tightly as I do now?
And, like the way memories from long ago fade into oblivion, would I be unable to remember my death until it’s imminent? Would you weep for me? Would I weep for myself?
What would it be like to not remember who I once was? Or would I weep over who I would become, all the while knowing I’m powerless to stop it?
My physics teacher taught me that we are stardust and that there is matter and anti-matter in this universe and that parallel universes might exist and that gravity is a fictitious force.
What he didn’t teach me is how to cope with the reality that I am nothing more than a speck of dust on a larger speck of dust…and yet someway, somehow, I am still finding something to live for.
Dust may live to turn into snowflakes, and I may live to turn into me.”
When your girlfriend tries to hold your hand before marriage