And in an instant, it floods me. The way the stars felt, soft, within a chilled sky. The oracle of the fire tossing its sparked prophecies into the night. A red skirt and the taste of bourbon and cigars. The headiness, the youth, the authenticity of a soul meeting a soul beyond the trappings of time and space. The memory finds me, as though I had been lost to it. It floods me, demanding that I embody it, love it, offer myself to it. I search for your words, the story you told that is you and me and yet not. I find them and drink them deeply, a remembrance of exiles, of concordances, of the alignment of spheres for a single moment. Ripples lapping upon my shore. Seeker, do you remember? What magic in dreams? Do you walk the tempered path?

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