The more my father spoke to me. The less I listened. He became frustrated. Assertive. He interrupted my thoughts one afternoon.
I cannot help you if you will me not to. I will never stop trying. This attempt is complete.
The three of us have ancient history. You and I are meant to have a child. Two centuries ago our child was kidnapped. Murdered. Neither one of us overcame the devastation. We have lived so many lives together since then.
What is masked as an esoteric education is simply a powerful memory.
And you remember too.
He is locked in limbo for what he has done. Accidents strike him every lifetime, regardless of the form he takes. He has been my father on more than one occasion, he was a brother to you in the past, an uncle on a few occasions.
I hate him. You hate him too.
We can never be together as long as this carries on. I try to learn forgiveness. Forget about finding the body. Forget about our pact.
People assume they comprehend pain.
Contrary to what masses may choose to tell themselves about healing and grief. Some suffering can be eternal.
By living a life focussed on helping people, I thought there might be repair and satisfaction. I thought utilizing natural abilities to assist others connect with who they have lost would alleviate the grudge.
It did not seem to be happening.