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We start off as miniscule particles in the womb, as tiny as the photons of light reflecting the pride in our mother’s eye. At first there are only two possibilities: Yes or No. A miracle, a wonder. And then a further possibility becomes the reality. Two complex structures of developing cells alternatively floating imperceptibly apart and then locking together in embrace for nine months. We are stars in her universe, carrying energy proportional to the radiation of love, but with zero rest mass, floating in our embryonic fluid.

Scientists have proved that time and gravity are related. A photon can be in more than one place at a time. Like twins. Like us. Subatomic particles a trillion miles away from each other can react simultaneously to something that happens at home.

You’re on the last twenty minutes of your journey on the Pacific Coast Highway in Santa Monica. I’m on the other side of the world on the Piazza Navona, sipping pink prosecco and pulling a spoonful of tiramisu from a spoon with my lip. Photons of spring sunshine warm my back as I bask in the adoring looks of my Italian lover.

The moment my lips close and I press the sweet mascarpone with its parched dusting of cocoa to the roof of my mouth, my world goes dark. I converge on an accordion of crimson lights glittering through a rain-drenched windshield, and there is a stabbing pain in my heart. A trillion miles away.

About the Author: 
Louise writes novels and short fiction, which has won prizes, placed on shortlists, and been read out on BBC radio. Connect with Louise on Facebook and Twitter @LouiseMangos, or visit her website www.louisemangos.com for links to more stories. She lives in Switzerland with her Kiwi husband and two sons.