so now in every universe now there is a jon & there’s a martin and in every universe they either find each other or they don’t and either way they know, even if they don’t, that they did find each other, once, and it was horrible and beautiful and so, so, unfair, and despite that, despite the horrible, beautiful, unfair briefness of that, their existence there, and in every universe, has value, even if it disappears forever, even when it does disappear forever, even when it did disappear forever, even when all that remains of them is the vague longing for what once existed, somewhere else, sometime else, someone else,
and some part of them both knows this, even when they’re different, even when jon never knew georgie, even when martins dad never left, even when they never met, even when they met each other sooner, fell out of love in uni, married as soon as it was legal, whatever happened, every time… in each universe. somehow. in some way. some parts of each other. knives and blood and tears. the tight grip of jons hand around martins wrist as he died. something about birthmarks where you died in a past life. what about birth marks where, in a past life, you killed someone you loved?
so maybe it goes like:
in this universe jon’s parents never die. he gets to grow up. he’s an only child, and he never meets mr spider, and he grows up and he goes to uni and he meets georgie, and he gets a job, and he marries georgie who did not watch her friend die, and they grow up, and realize they don’t work anymore, not because either of them is wrong for the other but because it just doesn’t feel right anymore. somewhere in his mind there is a memory of someone. some image. vague shape of a person. it’s not georgie. he doesn’t know who it is.
or:
in this universe martin’s dad doesn’t leave and they meet in university. in this universe they fall in love. in this universe martin’s dad is still there, and he’s still painfully aware of the fact that his mother will eventually die, but his dad stays and he gets to be a kid, and then a teenager, and then a young adult, and jon is insecure about himself, still, and he doesn’t meet georgie, and maybe he should’ve, maybe he could’ve, but he doesn’t. they marry at twenty five, and they move in together, and the flat isnt worth the rent but its something, and they get ordinary jobs, and they live ordinary lives. somewhere in their bodies is the ache of something equal parts unsettling and familiar. like biting into a peach with a bad tooth. canine stuck in the sweet flesh of a perfectly ripe fruit. blood and nectar.
maybe –
in this universe jon doesnt exist. martin does, though. his mother dies, and hes alone. what happens to him?
or:
they meet each other in bad circumstances again. they hate each other, this time, but its equal parts hate and longing. they don’t understand why. when jon dies martin doesnt understand why it leaves a gaping hole inside of him. something saying again. you did it again. you didnt have to. this time you didnt have to.
or:
when martin joins the institute jon remembers. martin doesnt. it feels like a bad dream. jon loves him. martin loves him back, eventually, and this time it isnt too late, and this time they dont live on borrowed time. this time. this place. this one.
or:
when jon dies so does martin. the atoms that made up their bodies mix together to form two people, different people, a jon that is as much martin as he is jon, and a martin who is as much jon as he is martin. they live in different cities in different countries and never meet. something is always missing. something is always gone.
or:
when jon wakes up he doesn’t dare say the word. he doesn’t dare even think it. for now everything could be anything. everything is still everything. in the box the cat is both dead and alive. in this corner of this particular universe who he won’t name is both dead and alive. both here and away. both still and moving. in constant motion on the atomic level. still in his absence. the moment stretches on forever. in another place martin is both still and in motion. in another place martin has his eyes closed, too. both of them are breathing. both of them are afraid.
or maybe:
their bodies are never found. flowers start to grow again. georgie comes by now and then, and so does basira, but nothing is ever found. in another world they exist as two broken people holding each other upright. blood still stains jons shirt, and martins hands, but the knife is gone. when he coughs there’s no blood. the scars are still there. he has nightmares again, but they’re normal. martin has nightmares too. neither of them talk about them for weeks. they stay together. the cabin isn’t there anymore, because it’s not their world. they have each other, and it’s enough. most of the time it’s enough.
The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don’t love me back.