But in the meantime the memories of other lives, other worlds, the connections I have with people, it's so difficult to explain. When you see someone for the first time and you remember traveling down a path through an old village or a forest with them on horseback, you remember crossing a river together. You meet someone else and you remember watching them die on a battlefield and you suddenly are filled with pain for the loss and joy that they are there in front of you and you laugh and try not to cry and someone who (by their standard) has never even seen you before, doesn't remember you at all, is looking at you like your nuts. And then I'll see someone else and remember walking through a medieval festival together, dancing under torch and star light, stealing fruit and bread and running off with them to picnic under the stars and making love and laughing. And you see someone else and you remember falling in love with them, but you were a traveler and they were a farmer and they chose their family heritage, their work and their land and you couldn't stay, you couldn't stay in one place long enough to see the love through and you left and you kept traveling and you remembered and loved them always. And then later you find yourself caught in a love triangle with two men you care for but have never been over the moon for either one and then one night one of the men says something and you remember, you remember that they got in a fight over you in France 400 years ago and both died of it, and one of them died in your arms, and here he is flesh and blood in your life again and a dear friend, begging for your love and it's a love you do not have to give.
This is my life.
I have often remembered people and they don't remember me and it's lonely and it's painful, and I have never known what to do with any of it. I have never ever felt it was my place to tell anyone of our past lives together. If someone is in this life and they don't remember the other life we had together, it's for a reason, it's none of my business to burst the bubble. So I just watch people fall for me and they don't know why and I do, and they feel connected to me and they don't know why, and I do. And I'm sad for them because the only thing that I have always known, the only thing I have always been sure of is that there was a love much greater than any I had ever been offered and it was still out there, and I could never give my heart to anyone who ever claimed to love me. I could never fully give my heart to a single person that begged for my love. And it got to a point where I just started pushing people away, save them the trouble of loving me, save myself the trouble of not knowing if I should tell them why they do or not... or why I don't... why I can't love them back.
And then I meet someone, suddenly out of nowhere, I'm not even looking, not even technically available and my heart that has always refused to love, this heart of mine that has always gladly kept her distance and pushed everyone away for as long as I can remember, this heart opens us as it never has before and once again I have no clue what to do. I still don't. Except to be happy I'm finally feeling something I guess.