Fortune In a Cookie

 

Your life is meaningless.

Lucky numbers: 89, 9, 20, 19

So reads the fortune within your after-dinner cookie. You pass your so-called fortune around the table. Your family, your fiancée, they laugh. You all have a good laugh. What an absurd fortune!

But, you lose sleep.

Your life is meaningless. 

That can’t be right. You stare at the darkness of the bedroom. Turn over, and run your fingers through your fiancée’s hair. She sleeps, soundly.

Your life is meaningless.

You wake up and go to work. Come home, cook dinner, eat, plentifully. Your fiancée smiles at you over her plate. Her smile has always killed you.

The fortune cookie grins. Your life is meaningless. 

The weekend comes. You drive to places unknown and unexplored. At least, by the two of you. Your fiancée feels full of life. Almost to bursting.

The years move. You wed. Collect pets. You smile over new dinners. You drive and discover. Your wife laces her fingers in yours.

Your life is meaningless. 

Age finds its way in. Wrinkles make their way onto your face. Your wife, she’s still twenty. Lines below her eyes don’t fool you. Nor do they matter. You still drive. Still explore. She shines.

Clock ticks.

You sleep on your deathbed. She holds your hand. Fingers laced.

You don’t have a soul, but let’s say you do. Your soul exits your body.

The fortune is not in your thoughts. Not now.

You see Earth as a marble. You walk through Neptune’s atmosphere. Sift through the Oort cloud. The galaxy expands before you.

The universe stretches. You orbit a star.

Your life is meaningless, says UY Scuti.

You orbit.

The light that is you smiles. The light that is you sees. Hears her. Feels her laced fingers.

The fortune was wrong. The star is wrong.

You are not among the cosmos. You never left her wild eyes.

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