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November 2009

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charletnarouh in 21months

Fighting the urge to turn around and run after her, I walk away from the woman, replaying the memory in my mind. I draw contentment and solace from the memory and the knowledge that I would see her again. The first contact had been made, the ice broken. This is always the touchy part. I have messed this part up before. Even though I was divinely constructed for my purpose, I possess one fatal flaw. Although I have no desire to deviate from the path set for me and no wish to ignore the summons sent to me, I still have the ability to act of my own free will when no higher force is influencing me. It is so easy to become wrapped up in my targets. Their memories and emotions consume me and it is my sole purpose to love them and I love instantly and deeply without reservation. This woman is no exception. I can easily become obsessed with them and it is difficult to trust the influence of my creators’ guiding hand when I want and need so badly to be close to them. More than once, I have sought them out of my own free will, and sometimes it has been disastrous and ruined any chance I had of helping them. But as keenly as I felt the joy and happiness of the child on the bench, I feel the pain and sorrow of the young woman that child has become. Her misery is my own now and my love for her, radiating from the core of my being, drawn from my creators themselves, makes me ache to go to her, to hold her, comfort her, delve into her memories and seek out the one that is causing her such grief, to let my love wrap around her and heal her heart. But not yet. The immortals had not forsaken me yet, and they know better than I, so I must wait for their guidance. My emotions torn between the joy of the memory I received and the sadness that wrapped like shroud around my new charge, I make my way slowly back to my little apartment, feeling empty and alone without the guiding hand on my shoulder. But I have seen her, and I know I shall again. I slide back into my bed with her and her memory dominating my mind, wondering what had changed the happy, carefree little girl into the cheerless young woman who had told a stranger the time tonight on an empty street.

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