I am watching The Adam Project and I am suddenly crying, once again. Tears I didn’t invite, but have pushed through the front door and I must welcome anyway.
I am imagining my 40 year old self meeting my 48 year old mum. A woman who doesn’t yet know that her world is about to be flipped upside down and taken away from her. Seeing the young woman she raised who had to figure out her adult years all without the guidance of her mother. I am matured and the years show in my face but I trust that I am happy. I trust that in twelve years time, I have connected with the right people and perhaps created some of my own.
An immediate recognition in the eyes of both of us. Because even if time travel has not existed, does not exist; if it happened, I know she would recognise my face in any timeline and in any form. I would take her for a cup of tea and crepes and talk about her life in a way that adults confide in each other; ask her the questions I never got to as a teenage daughter too worried about her own problems.
Alas. A dream, an idea, an imagination running away from the movie it was watching. Another world, another timeline, the same love. Always.
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