Or so I tell myself. But we have existed so long, you and I, accumulating so many layers of memory and interpretation . . . what do I know, really, of who we once were? All I have left is myth.
And surely you’ve now drifted even farther. What might you have become, Siob, in all these centuries since we last met?
Even if I found you again, would you know me? Could we still decipher each other?
— Feb 02, 2025 10:25AM
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