the very first time i remember you, you are blonde, and you don't love me back.
the next time, you are brunette, and you do.
after a while i give up trying to guess if the colour of your hair means anything
because even when you don't exist, i am always in love with you.
i remember most fondly the lifetimes where we get to grow up together,
where you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me.
i love how you play along with my bad ideas
before you grow up and realize they're bad ideas.
(and in our times together i have many, many bad ideas.)
when we meet as adults, you're always much more discerning.
i don't blame you. yet, always, you forgive me
as if you understand what's going on and you're making up for
all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist
and the ones where we, just barely, never meet.
i hate those. i prefer the ones in which you kill me,
but when all's said and done, i'd rather surrender to you in other ways.
even though each time i know i'll see you again,
i always wonder: is this the last time? is that really you?
and what if you're already perfectly happy without me?
ah, but i don't blame you, i'll never burn as brilliantly as you.
it's only fair that i should be the one to chase you
across ten, twenty five, a hundred lifetimes
until i find the one where you'll return to me.
- 25 lives by Tongari
BlackButterflies