Wait For Me vitas stories
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vitas
vitasthis is a self-indulgent mess
Autoplay OFF  •  5 months ago
You never truly changed.

Even from the first time, to the 5th, to the now, which may be the last.

(Inspired by and loosely based off of 25 Lives by Tangori)

I’ve avoided you for so long.

I’m not sure how many of your lifetimes have passed.

Your lives never had a pattern in terms of their length.

Sometimes, I get to see you marry and raise children.

I get to see you pass with decades worth of stories buried in the lines under your eyes.

Your eyes that change colour and shape each time I see you, but ultimately remain the same.

Always too trusting, too open, too deep that I find myself falling into the same chasm of charm that you’ve always had.

Other times, I don’t even get to see you enter adulthood.

It was always because of some type of illness that swept thousands, which, by your great misfortune, always, somehow, included you.

Those deaths were painful to watch.

It was painful to watch you wither away with barely a whisper of adventure on your skin, instead you had lesions, wounds, and a sickly colour that showed that you weren’t quite dead. Yet.

Your lifetimes have never been quite long or short.

Either way, they’ve never been quite enough.

It was after that lifetime you deemed to be too painful to carry on with that I stopped looking for you.

Each time, still, I’d somehow run into you.

I’ve always existed with you, so I suppose I should have expected that, eventually, we’d meet.

I still remember the first time.

I was new to the world, and so were you.

It was the first time we were new together.

You kept on renewing yourself,

While I remained as I am.

That first time is undoubtedly my favourite.

The last time, at least the last time I tried looking for you, the one where I found you just as you broke the surface of that cold, cold water, was undoubtedly the most painful.

I didn’t even get to tell you my name.

That’s always what I’ve done first.

I’ve always wanted you to know who I am first in hopes that maybe, in the depths of your mind, in the corner full of memories long forgotten,

I’m there,

and the sound of my name is the gust of wind that would blow off the layer of dust that covers the worn out, aged portrait.

The portrait of a person who’s lived long enough,

long enough to know that avoiding you is useless, because this is never going to end.

I’m going to keep chasing you, looking for you in every generation.

Looking for the same eyes that looked into mine as children, and would hopefully look into them again.

Maybe this time we could collect stories under our eyes together.

It’s unfair, you know.

All you have to do is be alive, and live whatever life you decide to live this time around, while I’m chained to you.

Chained to you, who keeps moving, changing, yet is ultimately the same.

You never truly changed.

Even from the first time, to the 5th, to the now, which may be the last.

Which hopefully is the last.

I wish this time, it would be.

Hopefully, I find you soon.

Wait for me.

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