he had fifteen lifetimes behind him; she had one. i do not know how this was fair.
he met her at the top of an escalator, the weight of his grin teetering on a long black umbrella. he was tall and thin, all angles. it was noon, on the eve of a quiet afternoon—perhaps the quietest they would ever know. rain fell in slow, muted drops, marking the way with an endless procession of disappearing circles. she linked her arm to his with a curious smile, the beauty of self-assurance and youth, and together they walked through the streets. she did not know them yet—the streets, him, her—though she would come to know them very well. in her mind there would be no looking back. this would be the birth of her second lifetime, interwoven and mismatched, oblivious to the thirteen others that would eventually come to trail behind her.