A Time When Worlds Were New

Once there was a time, long before this. A time when worlds like this were new and all things were possible. A time when the moments grew from one another, growing into strange shapes, strange structures and strange creatures.

I was there too, of course, shaping these growing possibilities into the shape of the world I wanted to make. Each morning, I would take the shape of the possible from the growing places, then twist them and turn them until I found the shape of the world I was looking for within them. Then I would let them grow on into that new shape.

Of course, I only suggested, formed, a tentative shape for the possible to grow into. I left the rest up to the various forces that were themselves growing into being to make this world grow out from a potential of an instant into millennia of growing and changing.

I remember the morning I found the shape of her waiting in the potential of the possible. It was not as if I created her, she just grew out of the formlessness I held in my shaping hands. It was as if my hands already knew the shape of her and the potential of the possible knew the shape of her too.

She grew there, in front of me, giving each of my new mornings a reason for being. Each day, I would hurry down to where she was growing out of the possible and I would sit back in wonder at what creation could make possible, make real, out of mere potential.

Of course, I never realised just how real she would turn out to be.

One morning I rushed down to look for her and she was gone. She'd grown and grown away from all that had created her, including me, and she gone off to discover just what was in this new world she'd found herself alive and free in.