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Before the age of men, even before this world was ever born, we already existed. We used to be an eternal, unsubstantial, perfect being that lurked the cosmos. There were others like you and I, but we preferred to enclose ourselves into our wholeness and never paid attention to those other entities. Everything was good and we didn’t know otherwise.
Our thoughts were so magnificent; oh, those complex conundrums made out of things that existed only inside our perfect minds, that endless poetry, that impossible logic. Some of these thoughts were created in my mind, and ended up in yours. Some other thoughts worked conversely. Now this hopeless mortal mind of mine is struggling to fathom the concept of what we used to be.
I assume someone or something teared us apart and threw us into this abhorrent existence. We were cursed to wander this land for all eternity, detached from each other, deprived from our past memories, perishing and hatching into this imperfect and ephemeral bodies, endlessly. Since then, I've lived a vast, incalculable number of lives and died the same amount of times, without you.
We are not meant to be together again, not by the grace of some higher power at least. Even so, we have met twice before now, only by chance. Once you were an old man and I was a little girl, in that instance you just passed beside me without even noticing me. I had to die a hundred times to find you again. This time we were two young men who stumbled upon one another in a crowded sidewalk. We recognized each other instantly and, for a few seconds, we recovered our long lost memories. You smiled at me, I smiled you back and that was it. Our memories faded once more and I lost you in the crowd. Then I died a thousand times and now you are sitting next to me.
As soon as you appeared in the corner of my eye, all the pieces came together. I’m terrified of looking at you. I fear that, if I say something, this eternal consciousness will abandon me. If that happens, this human I’m living in would never suspect that the other end of his soul is disguised as a young girl who’s sitting next to him, sketching something in a notebook. I wish I could just live the rest of this transitory life knowing that you exist, that alone would be enough for me. Unfortunately, I can’t control the impulse of turning my head towards you, only to find that you’re not there anymore. Instead there’s a piece of paper. A name and a number are written on top, and below there’s a drawing of what appears to be a two headed monster floating in space.
