Infinite worlds.

Before Tate's stroke, time was precise. The clock read in "4:30's" or "1:45's." Maybe it was just a coincedence that every time I looked at the clock it's hands made orderly halves and wholes. Whatever. That was better. It separated our days into clean, orderly fractions. Now, time is scrambled. What's shook my world has twisted time as well. I don't know if I can live on with this disaster hanging over me. I wish I could stop time completely. No more "12:37's" or "5:08's." Tate's paralyzed. And so is my world. On pause. On hold.

I sit on the side of Tate's cot. I'm trying to have a conversation with him but it isn't working. All of his words are taken apart and put back together in the wrong places. It makes me mad. And sad. How likely is it that this could have happened? What were the odds? One out of ten? One out of a hundred? I don't deserve this, and for god's sake, neither does Tate. So why? I think.

My brother once said that we are a part of infinite universes. Millions and trillions of dimensions. Each decision we make changes the course of our path, and our worlds split. Over and over again. Until we've built a tree of worlds, with branches sprouting at every second. If I hadn't chosen to go to the hospital today, would my world be different?Maybe not. But it could lead to something that I wouldn't have gotten to before.

If Tate hadn't gotten a stroke would things be different? Probably. But I'll never know. I'm stuck in this goddamn world. The other possibilities are only dreams in my imagination. What I wish things could be like. For now, I guess I will never know. Unknown.