Each Time I Die

Each time I return, you say we must fall in love again, even though I do not remember being in love with you. I tell you I have no memories of us and you tell me not to fear, you have enough memories for the both of us. I have been on a long journey, you tell me, to a far away place, where my body has been translated to this new form. It is a good body, strong, I tell you, but this body does not know your body. You laugh and tell me that we have plenty of time for our bodies to learn about each other, and we will enjoy exploring. I ask you why I left you, why I keep leaving you, and you shake your head. You tell me that I will remember that on my own time, and when I do, it will be time for me to leave again. You do not look forward to my leaving, although you support my decision. You do not wish to rush me into knowing, you tell me. I nod but do not understand. I reach out and begin exploring.