On fantasy and fairytales

 Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness sent me flying 

Into the multiverse of my own life, all of its versions, all the happy endings that this version of myself did not get to live 

Doctor Strange sent me into this multiverse, pure madness made out of what ifs

And I did not feel this way because they butchered my favorite character, the Scarlet Witch

It wasn't the one-sided villain or the weird plot 

It wasn't Benedict Cumberbatch's attempts to deliver one line with an accent from New York 

It was hearing that question 

"Are you happy, Stephen?"

Am I? Am I happy, Daniela? 

And back then I looked back into a door that was closed but still not locked 

There was still the high ground that fed me hope 

So I opened it and inside, all the realities I could've had swirled in front of me 

And in one of them, he loved me back 

So I opened that door and the gates were flooded with love 

And then confusion 

And then silence

And then woe

For even when I tried a different version of reality, he could not love me with me, he would not love my way

He had to love on his terms

And I had no say

So does happy always really meant quiet?

Does contentment comes in the form of simply settling for being chosen last? 

Were you really happy holding his hands when you knew how quickly he'd let go?

Were you proud to be invisible if it meant you could exist by his side? 

When did you give anyone this much power, Scarlet Witch? 

Just like her I could build whole worlds 

And in none of them I'd ever be seen by him 

There is no version of reality in which we end up together 

Since we're talking fantasy, let's talk Cinderella

Is he the prince in shiny armor that came to rescue the princess?

And if he is, have you noticed that the shoe does not fit?

In a multiverse of madness, you can find any version of the story that suits you 

Which is why you need to remember that just because you are not happy now

It does not mean that you were happy before

It does not mean "open that door"

It is sealed delicately again with tape and tears 

Any sharp word might burst it open 

Any picture, any message, any trip, and the whole city of Paraty photographed through his eyes

His eyes that never once hesitated before giving up on me

This door is fragile but needed 

So before you ask yourself if you are happy

Before you run back to that door

Remember that just because it could have been true, it never meant that it would make you happy

It never meant it was supposed to be yours  

And it doesn't change the fact that it never happened. 

Not in this reality. Not in any other. We are rare this way, he and I. Like a rare poison. Like an antique - less Graal and much more Pandora's box.

At best, he and I are an impossibility. At worst, we are a catastrophe.

We live in reality now, and madness belongs in the movies. In fantasies. Just like him.