“When I was your age–,” she began, but I cut her off.
“You’ve never been my age. I’m older than you.”
She blinked, confused and caught in the memory of another life. “Not now; before. I was a monk. By the time I was your age I’d discovered the meaning of life.”
For some reason, it really irks me when she talks about her past lives. “So you had it all figured out,” I snapped. “And what’s the meaning of life?”
A smile graced her lips. “You were there too; you’ll remember. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Author’s Note: The idea of reincarnation fascinates me. The idea of remembering those previous lives fascinates me even more.
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