Spring Willows

Nostalgia is the nectar for the soul, memories ambrosia for the heart. Nostalgia for, and memories of, another life, a shared past, glimpses of sunlight in that haze of mist that is the transmigration of the soul. We have passed each other a hundred thousand times, hurrying along on paths that meet and separate. And I often wonder if I will ever see you again, you whose warmth I remember only through a smile; I cannot recall your eyes though they must have been filled with light. On that spring morning I saw you last, framed by draping willows that saved their weeping for after our separation, in the hum of a glistening stream behind us, in the haze of tears that would later well in my eyes. I think you said something to me, but I cannot remember, for the gods are kind and benevolent, and they know that oblivion saves the heart from breaking over and over again. But I wish I could see you again, wish I could recall those parting words that have escaped me now that over five hundred years have passed. If love is granted over countless lifetimes of waiting, I wonder how many I have left to wait.