“Most of us would love to remember our human years. I know I would.” There was a wistful tone to her voice as she gazed out of the window at the passing landscape. “And here, you can recall everything about yours with perfect clarity, yet you have no desire at all to do so. It’s a bit ironic if you ask me.”
“I can’t tell you why I remember being human.” I gave her hand a small squeeze as I drove. “But I do. There are a lot of things about my own existence that I don’t understand or even know.”
“Maybe there’s a reason you remember.” She mused quietly and I was almost certain she was talking to herself – because with Isabella, you can never tell – so I didn’t answer.
We drove in silence for a while longer, day turning to night and back again, only stopping to refill the car. We often spent days in complete silence, not needing words to fill the air around us. There was nothing that could be said out loud that couldn’t be said with a simple look or touch. Especially if you were with the right person. The person that could understand you and knew what you were thinking – even without the gift of telepathy – without you having to say or do anything.
The one that most never find.
She was the carefree to my serious.
She was turning me into a sap.
She turned to look at me, an eyebrow raised as I stopped the car on the side of a narrow lane. I had driven it up onto the grassy curb far enough so that other vehicles were able to pass without causing much of a fuss. I didn’t answer her questioning look as I got out of the car, looking over the vast expanse of land in front of me. She silently climbed out and stood beside me, clasping my hand in hers, a silent show of support, watching me, her golden eyes curious and alight with questions.
“This is it.” I said quietly, looking down at her. She was confused with my cryptic words, as was expected. “This is where I was born.”
* * *
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