update from sparkleup
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<p><em>“Not me, no. Should We Forget and No Longer Myself are no more, though.”</em></p>
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<p>There was a long moment silence on the other end of the connection, though the sense of it lingering remained. <em>“I am sorry, love,”</em> Her Lover said at last. <em>“I haven’t forgotten you, though, or my fondness, so yeah, I’d love to reconnect.”</em></p>
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<p>If my more recently uploaded friends feel some sense of curiosity about how it is that someone with whom one has let contact language for decades might still feel fondness after so long, or how one might not forget, you must remember that those who live sys-side remain functionally immortal. If one leans into such a fact, then decades spent away may as well be a blink of an eye, yes? If one leans into the everlasting memory with which we are blessed or cursed or which is simply bestowed upon us without further thought, then a past lover away from whom one has simply drifted amicably is just as easily recalled.</p>
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<p>We are very old, you see. Why, at this point, I am 323 years old! And The Woman is of the same clade, so the same is naturally true of her. To us, we remember being mortal as only some distant thing from so long ago. We have our identity as those who may live life slowly. Things may still come at us quickly, yes, but we can deal with them in parallel, can we not? I could get a note from my dear up-tree stating that it is lonely or bored or simply hungry and wants someone to eat with, and so I may continue writing while joining em in this simple pleasure. I did that just earlier today, when she mentioned wanting to eat something good, some comforting food she learned from eir own friend, so that good memories may also be cherished. When I did join it for a simple meal of <em>ciorbă de praz</em> and <em>ardei umpluți</em> — for you see, its friend was Romanian, and taught em so many dishes that she now loves — I sat and listened and remembered and talked and ate and perhaps also fretted over stepping away from work, but I allowed myself to take some slowness, too. Even I am allowed such things, yes? Even the terminally busy may let one self stay busy while the other comforts and is comforted by those they are close to.</p>
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<p>We are very old, you see. Why, at this point, I am 323 years old! And The Woman is of the same clade, so the same is naturally true of her — if she lives still, that is. To us, we remember being mortal as only some distant thing from so long ago. We have our identity as those who may live life slowly. Things may still come at us quickly, yes, but we can deal with them in parallel, can we not? I could get a note from my dear up-tree stating that it is lonely or bored or simply hungry and wants someone to eat with, and so I may continue writing while joining em in this simple pleasure. I did that just earlier today, when she mentioned wanting to eat something good, some comforting food she learned from eir own friend, so that good memories may also be cherished. When I did join it for a simple meal of <em>ciorbă de praz</em> and <em>ardei umpluți</em> — for you see, its friend was Romanian, and taught em so many dishes that she now loves — I sat and listened and remembered and talked and ate and perhaps also fretted over stepping away from work, but I allowed myself to take some slowness, too. Even I am allowed such things, yes? Even the terminally busy may let one self stay busy while the other comforts and is comforted by those they are close to.</p>
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<p>Ah, dear readers, I am sorry that I cannot keep my thoughts from wandering an letting my pen trail after them like an eager puppy — yes, just like The Woman’s rituals — and that such interrupts the story I am trying to tell!</p>
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<p>All of this to say that The Woman and Her Lover spent some years together back in the first century of the System, back after secession but before she had fallen into her gentle stasis, before the goal of processing trauma was subsumed by the trauma itself. They had met — and you will not believe this, friends! — they had met at the very same cafe where The Woman and Her Friend met only days before. They had stumbled across each other in the most romantic way possible: by ordering the same coffees at the counter. They both asked for the same mocha with extra whipped cream, gave each other a strange look, and then fell into laughter.</p>
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<p>As is the case with so many cladists — yes, perhaps especially us — they orbited around each other eccentrically, coming now closer together, drifting now further apart. There would be a chaotic few weeks or months or years when they would dance or walk the field or sit and drink mochas or cook for each other or share a bed, and then, with a fond exchange of kisses, they would part ways with a promise to see each other again soon, for their lives were long and the System was wide.</p>
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<p>And so it was that, over the years, The Woman and Her Lover swung close together less and less often and for shorter and shorter intervals, and when The Woman requested time away, time to herself, Her Lover would kiss her on the cheek and smile and promise to see her again soon, and the smiles were more often sad, but The Woman held onto that promise, setting it up on her dresser or perhaps a high shelf where she might observe its austere grace along with that of all of the other promises she had been given over the years, for her life was long and the System was wide.</p>
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<p>My gentle readers, I would love to tell you that they met up at that selfsame cafe, but while life is poetic, not every meter is so strict. No, instead, they met up on a train. </p>
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<p>A train! There are many things on Lagrange, this shared dream in which we live, and many things which have been perfected all the way down to their imperfections. When you collect so many minds all in one place and tell them to live their best and to live it forever, why, they will perfect precisely the things they love most and, my friends, I am sure I do not need to tell you that some people love trains.</p>
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<p>As was their wont in decades passed, The Woman met Her Lover on board rather than on the platform. It was their habit for Her Lover to step aboard the train one stop after The Woman did, and for them to both hunt for a seat — no matter how empty the train was; for even if it was totally empty, the <em>perfect</em> seat is of the utmost importance — and to meet in the aisle. You see, when your relationship starts with a chance meeting, sometimes it feels nice to seek out those chance meetings again, yes? What better way to do so than on so linear a structure as a train? It certainly reduces the possibilities of near misses!</p>
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<p>Somewhere near the front of the train, they met, and here they felt that welcome surprise. The chance meeting may have been deliberately constructed, and yet it was not without this sense of newness. The Woman was a familiar panther that day and Her Lover a human as always, but The Woman, who had been so focused on her stasis until now, realized at once that she <em>had</em> changed over the years. Slowly, to be sure, and perhaps not in the ways that she wished, but she had changed. Today, she wore a silver-gray wrap of a shirt, all shot through with purple threads, and a gray-silver wrap of Thai fisherman’s pants, all shot through with threads of blue. Her fur may have been the same black, short and glossy, and she may have lingered in suffering as the tenth stanza had in her own way, but she was hardly the type to fully languish, nor wear the same thing for years or decades at a time!</p>
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<p>“Kitty,” Her Lover said, leaning on old affections and wide smiles, “you look amazing. Never thought I’d see you in something quite so…so chic!”</p>
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<p>The Woman, caught up in the infectious ebullience of the greeting, smiled and bowed, tail lashing about with delight. “Thank you, Farai. You are looking well.”</p>
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<p>And indeed she was! The Woman was pleased to see just how well. Her Lover she knew kept to warmer sims and hotter climes and these little jaunts onto this kindly juddering railway through the mountains were aberrations of a sort, so the fact that her outfit appeared to be a skirt and blouse in oranges and reds covered in part by some hastily acquired hoodie displaying the logo of a band The Woman <em>knew</em> no longer existed made sense. It made her ache in some intangible way to not see those smooth-skinned arms she had spent countless hours nestled within, brushing dull claws over or stroking soft fingertips along, her pale white skin in such stark contrast, signifiers of some more physical past.</p>
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<p>Still, within her face was that vivacity that had originally drawn The Woman in. There lay warmth that put the colors of her clothing to shame. There lay the kindness and wit in equal measure. There lay the lips she had kissed and the cheeks she had dotted her nose against and the high forehead she had touched her own two while they had shared quiet laughter and quieter I-love-yous.</p>
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<p>The Woman cried, and Her Lover guided her to a seat that she might do so without standing, trying to balance herself against the kind juddering of the train.</p>
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<p>When she could speak again, she said, “I have missed you, my dear. I am pleased that your patience holds as ever.”</p>
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<p>“Of course it does, End Of Endings,” Her Lover said, laughing. “Our relationship is as it is, and I knew that going into it.”</p>
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<p>“Still, there have been times over the years that I wished I had contacted you, and did not.”</p>
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<p>“Why, do you think?”</p>
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<p>“After Death Itself and I Do Not Know quit, at first, I was in pain, and then I was bitter, and then I was lonely and glad of it, and then I was too absorbed in being myself, and then…” The Woman shrugged and gestured around vaguely.</p>
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<p>“Yeah. And then,” Her Lover said. “Is that why you got in touch?”</p>
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<p>She shook her head. “Well, yes, but also, I have had some thoughts about joy and how to find it. I experienced it for a week or so, but it faded. I experienced it almost on accident, though, yes? And I wanted to be deliberate.”</p>
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<p>“Oh!” Her Lover sighed, slouching back in her seat with a smile on her face that was very nearly a silly grin. Not quite, but very nearly. “It’s been a <em>long</em> time since someone has said something that flattering to me.”</p>
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<p>The Woman preened — and we all know that is quite cute! — which earned her a kiss to the cheek in return. She marveled at how easy it was to fall back into such lovely habits and, yes, there was joy to be had, there, and to that she clung tightly. It seemed not the time for her to bring up the task of finding joy specifically in touch, in sensuality and sexuality, though she knew Her Lover felt that such were joys as well. It was a matter of enjoying <em>this</em> joy, first.</p>
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<p>(talk, hold hands, kiss, open about plans/always honest)</p>
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<footer>
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