Their eyes meet, and out from their lips comes the sounds of stuttered words, fingers unsure, eyes searching, hearts feeling visions that race through their minds. It’s as if this moment was paramount, even though faded memories only led to the time of now. They do no think. They only feel. Their cracked, papery lips never felt drier than before, but as if prompted by a spirit that harboured the edges of their souls, words tumbled out into a thin, fine stream—as if practised through aeons, and memorised by their immortal spirits, eternal in finite bodies, and ingrained within their tired minds, they say, “I’ve seen this before.”

And only their spirits know if it is true.