I walk down the lane, the same path as usual.
No one bothers to stop me, to ask where it is I'm headed towards.
A million lifetimes and I still hold onto some thin fragment of hope.
Might as well give in to a losing game, I tell myself. Yet I march on, carrying onwards, my goal never nearing. It feels as though each step I take towards it, takes me a hundred back.
Yet I continue. A million lifetimes, there must be an end to it at some point, right?
Some day, I will reach put my hand and he will be there, to catch me. We will laugh. I might punch him for making me wait for so long.
"You never did wait." He might say, "You kept going ahead of me, never pausing, never looking back."
I stop. That thought never did occur to me. Did I really push myself too far?
A thousand miles only to have been left behind in the dust? No. Please no.
"You'd wait for me won't you?" I asked him as we lay beneath the sky, hand entwined.
He kissed my hand, his voice firm yet gentle as the breeze, "Always and forever. I'll never step forward without you."
We found each other once. We never did want to part. So, I waited. I died alone.
My third and fourth lifetimes were similar. He never came. I didn't move forward. I died alone. He probably did too.
Nearing the 50th one, I decided to look for him. He said he won't move forward, so maybe I had to?
Never did. So I had to change.
I, I had moved on. For several centuries I lived different lives, a loving mother, a caring wife with a man whom I had no feelings for.
I couldn't handle it, so I was left with my former choices.
Then I found the road which never ends.
I continue to walk on it, no matter the lifetime, the year. Once I'm of age, I move on.
"The stars would guide us. They'll direct me to mine."
I wonder if this might be for the best or not. He did critique me on my lack of imagination. He was the one who could be abstract while I believed in what I could see.
And I saw him and the myths came true.
"Ah, young miss! I was just watering the garden." A voice calls out. Surprised, I turn to find a young man. He called me 'young miss', funny. I forget how old I am now.
"Come on now, it's the middle of nowhere, and you look tired."
"Alright." And inside I went. To a little house, warm and welcoming.
"Here, tea for you ma'am."
"Thank you."
A beat of silence, then, "Would you oblige me and share the reason for that tedious walk of yours?"
It wasn't always that people bothered to ask about it. But it's been a long time since I've been asked and I'm not going to hide it, "I am searching for the other half of my soul."
"What if he's walking just like you? How'd you two ever meet if neither stop?"
"What if he's ahead of me dear? What use would it be if I stop?"
"What if he's behind?"
I smile, "What if indeed."
"Behind, not just in step ma'am."
For the first time in ages I'm forced to acknowledge that abstract could be important.
"What do you mean?"
He looked young, just like how we were. Just like how I remember him.
Could it be?
"Those eyes. The stars, they would never lead me astray."