l.

they say we each have seven doppelgängers somewhere in the world. people who look just like us—same eyes, same smile, same shape of being. science calls it coincidence. statistics. symmetry. the odds of repetition.

but i've been thinking about quantum leaping—how there's already a version of us living the life we dream of. and if that's true, why must those versions exist only in energy?

what if they've always been here, moving through cities we've never been to, laughing in lives that could have been ours?

maybe that's what the seven doppelgängers are:

fragments of self scattered across timelines. each one living out a possibility we once imagined. the rich you. the healed you. the peaceful you.

the one who said yes sooner. the one who let go sooner. the one who already became.

and maybe the reason we never meet them is because our frequencies don't touch. parallel lines of potential that never quite cross. we only sense them in glimpses—in dejà vu, in dreams that feel too real to be fiction.

perhaps the real leap isn't about finding her at all. it's about alignment, about healing the first six versions of ourselves until we vibrate close enough to the seventh, the one who finally made it.

and when we do, maybe meeting her won't feel like meeting anyone at all. maybe it'll just feel like coming home. ♡

to have a muse is to know pain

to know the gut-wrenching feeling of despair

the feeling so recognizable that it brings a bone chilling coldness that resembles warmth

to have a muse is to know that love once existed

shared between the beauty of two souls that connected so heavenly

a match made by godly angels themselves

that eventually decays underneath the delicate touches of bittersweetness

because all angels fall.