Metaphor.

You and me. We both often sit and think of another. Even when in the same room at the same time and looking in the same direction we think alike. I and you. You have wandered a century in a world forgotten by time and men, and I have stepped into a new one, yet unexplored. There is no fear to be found, and as much as I’d want to come with you back to the beginning, you take my hand to be lead to the continuation. Neither knows whereto.

I have spent years standing at unnamed edges in unnamed countries and beneath dead mountains while you have been a rock in the raging sea, then finally quiet to my footsteps. I have been the dunes of sand trying to cling to the last outskirts of land and grass while you have been the mighty old trees swaying in the same wind that touches me evermore.

We were tears of rain balancing on newborn fledglings of plants in the spring dew.

I was a little girl hanging onto your grown up hand, trailing behind you with long dresses clothing my soft skin, vulnerable and innocent. You were my protector, my guide, my absolute and most true love.

Later, you were the laughter of my life, a house full of warmth and torn bonds weakening under pain, blood and fright and burning picture frames full of voices. We were sworn to the memories, and we fought idly side by side until time ran out. Until everything we had been forced to build upon was silenced.

Until once more I was the seed of the land of the forgotten in your heart. And all the unknown came to begin, all over again.

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