They found one another. Of course they did. It doesn’t matter how. Fate finds a way.
 I see some of them sunglass-faced sitting outside of cafés laughing over espressos, playfully touching elbows. I know they’re whispering about me after they make love—two heads on one pillow, tracing the chin of the other.
 Another two pair up, vacation across Italy together, and pose for pics in front of beautiful sunsets and seas stretching into horizons. They look so happy because they are. Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be? They have nothing in common but me—and that’s all the bond they seem to need.
 A couple of my exes find another couple of my exes and double-date. Those four find another four, those eight another eight. This goes on—a big bang of sorts, a chain reaction. My multiple pasts expand exponentially into a future, coalescing. The gravity sinks in. There are larger dinner parties, planned camping trips. They meet parents, exchange holiday gifts, celebrate birthdays.