There once were two souls who achieved remarkable things in their previous life together.
As a reward for their good deeds, the Maker—the almighty one—had reincarnated the pair into majestic, powerful, comets.
Of course, reincarnation isn’t anything special. Every single entity has lived an infinite number of lifetimes and still has an infinite left to go.
Infinitude. The basic premise of it ensures we already have lived each and every fathomable life, making our current existence, well, quite unoriginal. Even the lives that may have been objectively and subjectively more significant, memorable, extraordinary than others, are ultimately lost in the vast pool of endless experience.
But it is precisely this—that we forget our past existence and cannot penetrate our next one—that we find beauty in what little we have now.
The Maker also granted the comets with two wishes.
With their first wish, the comets requested to see the entire universe:
Please allow our tails to burn for as long it will take us to experience all you’ve created.
And so the Maker set their tails ablaze and the two took off, searing space with new energy.
Before they knew it, a trillion years had passed, and the comets had seen almost everything. There was just one planet left.
Well, my beautiful comets, it seems as though your great adventure is coming to an end. The Maker’s voice rang. Has the universe I’ve created inspired a second wish within you?
The comets peered down upon the blue, green, and white mosaic.
Maker, we’ve heard many conspiracies from the corners of the universe, of the creatures beneath us, the ones who can feel love deeper than all else.
We have saved this one for last.
There was a deafening silence, and then the Maker responded.
So you wish to become human. Very well then.
For the second and final time, your wish is my command.
To the Maker, the two souls were a peculiar case study. She could not wrap her reasoning around them.
Because no matter what form the pair had occupied in their previous lives, whether they even shared bodies with which physics would permit embrace, one thing had always been for certain: they had fallen in love every time.
It’s easiest to assume the work of divine intervention. But at the cosmic level, love is poison, the clouder of proper judgment, to be subdued at all costs. The Maker, who operates out of the sole necessity to maintain balance and righteousness in the world, had never once meddled with insignificant games like matchmaking.
Then perhaps this love was by pure chance?
No, that couldn’t be it either; coincidences are a weak explanation for what happens with certainty.
The Maker, to whom physics bends its laws to fulfill Her needs, for whom objects fall obediently into place, could not fathom any other possibilities. She could not understand their love.
But those who have spent time on Earth will find the truth quite uncomplicated.
Their love was autumn, releasing a dancing, pastel leaf into the path of a boy. It was the boy breaking free from his father’s grasp, sprinting toward the falling foliage with outstretched palms, his foot catching the tree's overgrown roots and sending him stumbling toward the ground.
Their love was a soft pile of autumn's leaves breaking the fall, dead hands embracing the boy, rustling with pleasure, I will never let you go.
Their love was a triumphant fist emerging from the heap, tightly clutching the singular leaf that started it all, I will never let you go.
Guaranteed love cannot rely on the randomness of a falling leaf, nor a child’s sudden inclination to chase after it. No, it is as methodical as the roots that grow unseen, disobeying gravity and stretching to break the soil. It is as determined as the boy, who has never before grasped the fragility of life, realizing that catching this leaf before it touches the ground is the most important thing he will ever do.
In every lifetime, the souls manually twisted and stretched their existence, spinning the universe in search of themselves, seeking the answer to the same devastating question that most others avoid—if you listed all the things you love in this world, how long would it take for you to name yourself?
And in every lifetime, they took on the challenge of placing their name alongside everything they felt they didn’t deserve. They chanted their name over and over and over again to themselves—a sacred mantra, an attempt to cleanse oneself with oneself.
It would be on this seemingly solitary path, one not uncovered by a soft brush, but paved brick-by-brick with labor, that their voices would cross and merge, the dancing soundwaves forming the overture of their love.
My years on this path taught me how to spell, pronounce, and respond to my name.
But it wasn’t until I heard you say it,
That I finally understood what it could mean.
As suggested, the explanation is quite uncomplicated.
After everything they had been through, how could they not find each other?
There once were two souls who saw the entire universe together.
They lived out their final hundred years, in a form that physics permitted embrace, to fulfill the one thing that was for certain.
The one thing the Maker could never understand.
[ry + cc]