mo(u)rning, pt. ii

We explored the ruins of the empire together, chasing its echoes down broken roads and through empty fields. She had a gift that I could never quite understand, where she could take an artifact and see into its past. There was something she was chasing, and I was there to keep her safe, to keep her company on the road. To make sure she knew she wasn't alone.

She never liked calling them visions; she said it was like having someone else's memory. Like her thoughts weren't her own anymore. It left her shaken and disoriented, and while she was experiencing whatever she experienced there wasn't much I could do except hold her hand while I kept watch. Even keeping watch wasn't that helpful out here. These lands had long since been abandoned.

Sometimes she would forget which memories were hers and which were echoes. It was worst in the mornings: I think the continuity of the day helped her keep track, and waking up in the morning, there was nothing there to anchor her. She'd sleep fitfully at night, dreaming dreams she would never share, and when morning finally came, I could always see that moment of panic on her face, as she tried to reorient herself. I don't know if it helped when she saw me there next to her, but she always said it did.

I would never understand what compelled her to do this to herself, just to piece together the story of the death of an empire from nothing but fragmented memories. "I'm the only one who can," she told me once. But I didn't need to understand to be there, to hold her hand, to make sure she has something familiar to wake up next to in the mornings. And despite everything, the wilderness was always so beautiful, and it always felt like we were inching closer to some kind of truth.