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She always looks different. Wildly so. Sometimes she was tall and sometimes short and most of the time somewhere in between. Her hair passed through every pigment from gold to raven black. Even her personality shifted. But her eyes were always the same. Brown as the pits of figs, wild as the gaze of a roaming bird and her soul was always there, always stretching out to meet mine. Yet that was how they always remained, outstretched, like fingers clawing through the empty space between them yet never close enough to clasp.

It was my duty to chase her. My destiny to have her. Through the very wrinkles of time itself. They say love bends all the rules, well in my case, it bent even the travel of time and the fact of death.

I always look different too. I am born to a new family each time and I travel through life, flickers of past lives filter into my dreams and, as I begin to learn the world again, I realize that this is not the first. A burning desire drives me often compels me to do unplanned things that I later find leading me to her. Somewhere along the line, we meet. Sometimes it is the first day, sometimes I am well into middle-age beginning to fear that this is the end. We never meet and the purpose for my immortality is gone.  Most of the time, it is somewhere in between. But always she is there. I always know her at first sight. Although the features change, the eyes are still there and the way they see into my soul.

She never knows me. Perhaps she does not even realize that she lives eternal with me. Each time we meet, I must pursue her again, seduce her into this love that has transcended even the powerful clinch of time.

It never ends well. 

(to be continued, tomorrow…)

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