Meeting Myself Across Universes: A Journey Through the Infinite #WriteAPageADay #800

I Met Myself in a Parallel Universe

I stepped through the mirror’s sigh,
its cold breath on my neck,
a quiver, a flicker, a laugh without a face.
The ground beneath me—cobbled with what-ifs,
each stone groaning with decisions unborn.
I was hunting for something,
but it was not me.
Or perhaps it was.

And there you stood,
my shadow unfastened from my heels,
a silhouette filled with light.
You wore my skin, my scars,
but your eyes,
your eyes were cities I had never built.
Your hands—calloused from choices I never dared touch.
"Hello," you said, in a voice
that cracked open my ribs.

"You took a wrong turn," you whispered.
Or was it me who spoke?
I could not tell where your edges stopped
and mine began.
We sat on a bench made of infinite timelines,
the wind whispering regrets I had forgotten.
I watched the sun setting in reverse—
fiery skies dissolving into a pale, forgotten morning.

"Tell me," I asked,
"What do you do with your nights?"
You laughed, a sound that bent gravity,
and pulled stars closer.
"I dream of being you,"
you said,
"of not knowing what comes next."

I flinched.
You caught it, like a spider
catches a trembling web strand.
"You think you’ve suffered," you said,
"but you’ve only ever touched
the surface of your own drowning."
Your words tasted like citrus,
bittersweet, stinging my tongue.

I wanted to grab your face,
to unmask the familiarity,
but your skin shifted under my palms—
a kaleidoscope of all the choices
I had been too afraid to make.
There you were,
climbing mountains I turned my back to.
There you were,
sinking into loves I had feared to hold.
There you were,
holding the children I never named.

"What do you regret?" I asked.
Your lips curled into a map,
and I got lost in the folds.
"Regret is for those
who never learned to burn," you said.
And in that moment,
I hated you.
For being braver than I could ever dream,
for not flinching when the world collapsed.

"How did you get here?" I demanded.
You traced a circle in the air,
a loop of light that sang with possibilities.
"I walked the roads you abandoned,"
you said.
"I danced with ghosts you ran from.
I kissed mouths you labeled forbidden,
and I tasted the salt of every tear
you were too proud to cry."

I swallowed hard,
but the lump in my throat grew wings,
fluttering into the cavity
where I kept all my unsaid apologies.
"You must be lonely," I said.
But you smiled—
a crescent moon sharpening into a blade.
"Lonely?" you asked.
"I carry your loneliness like a hymn.
It hums in my marrow,
but I do not let it drown me."

We walked then,
through a forest of mirrors,
each one reflecting versions of me
I couldn’t recognize.
A warrior with blood-streaked cheeks.
A poet with ink-stained fingers.
A lover with a thousand hands reaching for the stars.
And yet, I,
the timid wanderer,
stood apart,
watching them as if through glass.

"You could still become them,"
you said,
your voice a compass pointing everywhere at once.
"But how?" I asked,
my words falling like autumn leaves,
crumbling before they reached the ground.
"You must step into the fire,"
you replied.
"Let it devour everything you are not."

I wanted to protest,
to argue that fires are for destruction,
not creation.
But then I saw the embers in your eyes—
small galaxies waiting to explode.
"You’re not me," I whispered,
finally daring to say it.
"I am you," you said,
"but the version who was unafraid
to become."

The world tilted then,
or perhaps I did.
The sky opened like a book,
its pages filled with all the lives
I could still write.
"You don’t have to stay afraid,"
you said.
"Your fear is only a shadow,
and shadows can only exist
if you give them light."

I reached for you,
but you were already fading—
a wisp of smoke unraveling into the void.
"Wait!" I cried.
"Don’t leave me!"
But you smiled,
and the weight of that smile
collapsed my lungs.
"I’m not leaving," you said.
"I am already inside you.
I always was."

And then you were gone,
or perhaps,
you were never there.
I stood alone,
yet fuller than I had ever been,
the echoes of your voice
reverberating through my bones.
I looked up,
and the stars blinked back,
as if to say:
"You’ve always been the universe you sought."

I turned back to the mirror,
its surface now still,
but my reflection no longer trembled.
I touched the glass,
and this time,
it was warm.
I walked away,
but not as the same person
who had arrived.

Because once you meet yourself,
you cannot unsee
the infinite ways
you were always meant to be.

#ParallelUniverse #SelfDiscovery #Poetry #Introspection #PersonalGrowth #Existentialism #Transformation #Creativity #InfinitePossibilities