"It would be so simple," he said, "if we could approach people we cared for without any past so we could see them without coloration." She looked at him, startled by his sincerity.
"But we can't," he continued. "Human memory is long, after all, it's what brings us together. It's what causes that peculiar tingling, sometimes when we first meet, like a faint but unmistakable brush of recognition--of what? A kindred spirit, perhaps. An aura of presentiment. It has many names. It exists, invisible but unquestioned for all that."
He paused. "Did you feel it when we first met? A spark from a flame?
"I'm afraid to trust you," She said.
Overheard in my head, Summer, 1999
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