Magnetism
This feeling that we’ve known each other before. This magnetism. This electric connection, this immediate attraction. You think it’s a coincidence. You don’t remember in this lifetime.
Four lifetimes ago I was a baker. It was my only skill. I couldn’t read but I could make any pastry, I kneaded love into everything I made. I was lucky it paid the bills. You were smart, you always are, always will be. You were a scribe and loved bread. Once, I spent seven days and seven nights working with a learned man to write. I only learned your name and I wrote into a loaf, just for you.
Four lifetimes from now you’re a meta comedian. You’re an activist masquerading as a comic. Your jokes are a vehicle to deliver education. Your audience loves you. I’m a theoretical physicist and we always fancy ourselves polymaths don’t we? I make fun little videos demonstrating the bizarre nature of our universe. We meet again at a conference for video creators. You remember me this time, the conference another masquerade. You’re performing at the front and you tell the audience, you tell me, that you learned to be funny because it’s easier to show people your world if you package it in the simple things you’ll always love. The things that matter the most. Like bread. The crowd laughs, I weep.
You tell a joke and I see the equation of our lives.
We have always found each other. We will always find each other. I think the universe, this whole machination, is our playground.
Or maybe I just have a crush
