We flow through each other now, joyous our shared memories, separateness and feeling of there-then juxtaposed with the complete full and unlimited infinite sharing of now-forever. Your skin in retrospect, touched but a few in that last incarnation, so often in others, not at all in still others, now just part of this great golden warmth, glowing with love and intent. What is meant? Oh, I am like a neuron. I don’t know, but we do.

My mate is dating; they meditate. Occasionally I drop in. They are good for each other, and as I should I am glad. Soon, now, mine will join us. Yours is here. We are all one.

Upon entering, review. Things the thing I called, “I”, loved. Proud of nothing, I floundered, but did not drown, discovering later. I was inside-out, each touch a shock. A lifetime of growing skin, at the end new skin, soft and tender, always ready for a caress.

So quickly I forgot, though reminders were plenty. The rawness made me withdraw, every tree a hiding place, every face a threat. Yet in the end those years were but a poignant blur, unimportant, an extended babyhood, time irrelevant. I had started to waken when we met; we awakened parts of each other buried in habit and ignorance, we grew, open-eyed, alive. Those were the times. We left in the end with gladness and at peace atop our separate mountains, transfigured discorporate in joy.

Now I love you and me, us, all of us, this eternal golden soup and endless neutrality. I will go back soon, a short tour, to die a child. You will not wait, I know. When I return again you will again be married and have children. You will be my English teacher in Pakistan. I will have a tremendous crush, no doubt. I will be a precocious boy. You will be patient, but firm.

I will find enlightenment in a monastery. My healing hands will be perfected during that visit. I will call on you psychically often, but will leave long before you do.

You will be a matriarch, dispensing wisdom, healing and peace to your great grandchildren, a beacon to a great swath of souls.

Perhaps the time after the time after that our timelines will be on time, in time, coincidental. We can be lovers, share physicality, sensuality, pleasure and joy. I wonder what it would be like? The memory of tactile love grown now dim and abstract, little, tiny moments against the backdrop of forever, I remember it sweet. I remember wishing to share everything as I think only you and I could. Yet I had beauty and joy and no regrets. I am, was, will be content. When a couple goes to a party, they split up and talk to others. It’s what they do.

Joy to you, forever.