i believe this. when we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirits that is historian, a bit of a pedant who imagines or remembers a meeting when the other had passed by innocently, just as clifton might have opened a car door for you a year earlier and ignored the fate of his life. but all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms jump in one direction for desire to occur.
i have lived in the desert for years and i have come to believe in such things. It is a place of pockets. the trompe l’oeil of time and water. the jackal with one eye that looks back and one that regards the path you consider taking. in his jaw are pieces of the past he delivers to you. when all of that time is fully discovered it will prove to have been already known.
“the english patient”