Lately, I have been fixated by the idea that there is another me living directly underneath me.
Not in the apartment beneath mine, or even in the basement, but underneath the very ground, mirroring my every action, my every movement in a world opposite my own.
It began a few weeks ago when I was out for a jog in the park. I had taken the wooded path that went through the thick canopy of the trees, to get away from the hot sunlight; becoming distracted by how the rays of light flitted through the leaves prettily, I tripped on an exposed root and fell sprawling onto the hard-packed ground.
I was surprised more that hurt, yet the impacted winded me for a moment and lay there, feeling the cool soil against my skin.
Pushing up with the palms of my hands, I instantly felt the sensation of my palms coming into contact with what seemed like someone else's hands pushing back just underneath the surface.
The sensation startled me more than the fall and I scrambled back up to my feet and stared at the impression I had made on the ground. There was indeed the outlines of my hands but they were not depressed into the soil as they should have been from the impact, they only seemed level with the surface, as if they had been pushed back into position from the other side.
Shaking my head, I disregarded the thought and continued on my run, but that night, as I lay in bed, my mind drifted back to that sensation of someone underneath me on the ground and started to ponder if there were other dimensions sitting right next to this one, why could there not be one below; a world just underneath the surface where our opposites live and go about their lives counter balanced to those in this one.
The idea festered in the back of my head, distracting me during the day as I tried to focus on my work, and then consuming my thoughts while I walked home each night. A few times I nearly walked straight out into traffic because I was too busy looking down at the sidewalk under my feet, fooling myself into imagining feeling the footfalls of my opposite on the soles of my shoes through the concrete.
Searching online and even going to the library to research books on physics and theories of multiple universes, I became obsessed with the subject. Though, in all of the books and articles, most spoke of dimensions stacked metaphorically on top of one another, not actually sitting beside or on top of each other.
None mentioned being able to actually feel the other pushing back, but each day I became more convinced I could; convinced that the fabric between me and my other was somehow wearing thin.
The question is: could it wear out?
What if, through our constant contact with the thinning floor between our worlds we manage to tear a hole in the fabric between our worlds and we fall through, sucking everything down into each other's dimension, causing both to collapse into each other; obliterating both.
I know how ridiculous this sounds, and I cannot explain how it is possible, yet I believe that is what is happening. That is why I am writing to you.
I have stopped leaving my apartment; stopped setting foot on the floor unless absolutely necessary, for fear any more contact with fabric of the floor between our dimensions will only further damage it, thus destroying both our worlds.
I know you are reading this letter as we write it, so please, I implore you, stay off the ground; stay off the floor, and I will do the same.
Though I fear the damage is already done, I can feel you underneath me now; feel you sitting cross-legged on your bed, writing this letter to me as well.