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She felt awe. That’s what it was. Human beings were capable of creating beauty and strangeness far beyond what nature offered. Their minds could be weird and grandiose. They could conceive of more than what was in front of them, more than facts they’d learned.
Perla explained multiverse this way: “It’s a beautiful day, right?” “Right.” “And we can agree upon this true statement: It’s not raining. Correct?” “Correct.” “Well. That statement implies that sometimes, in our world, it does rain. Right?” “Uh-huh.” “And we can also say truthfully: It isn’t raining blobs of peach Jell-O today.” “Yup.” “Okay, then what we have implied is, It could have rained blobs of peach Jell-O, yeah? And even though there is obviously no way it rains blobs of Jell-O in our world, the fact that we can say it at all implies the existence of parallel universes where it does
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Think of your happy memories. Know they are still in you. They are part of you. And maybe even they ARE you.
It did occur to her that their love might be a delicate flower that would wilt from too much attention. On the other hand, maybe it was a delicate flower that would die if she neglected it. Of course, Adelaide would rather think their connection was not a delicate flower at all, but a sturdy freaking cactus of a love, hardy and strong, able to withstand neglect and hard times—but then again, cacti are prickly. You need to approach them gently. Still, she went over. She wanted to see him.
“When you tell me how hard you worked, you miss the point,” said the teacher. “The work you put in is irrelevant. The result is what matters.” “I think the work people put in is relevant,” Adelaide said, putting a protective hand on her model. “The process of making something changes a person.” “It is not an A-grade design,” said the teacher. “It’s self-indulgent.”
