700 B.C, Ancient Greece

 

The sunlight glittered as it fell upon a young pair, standing high above the splashing waves. Two Boys, one tall, the other small. Holding hands as they say a last goodbye. Share a last kiss.

 

In this moment, there is no need for speaking - the words will only serve to remind them of their parting.

 

The Tall Boy brushes his hand gently against the smaller’s cheek, as though he were made of precious glass. He kissed away his tears and stared into his eyes.

 

Silence was all they shared as they turned from each other. One heart left behind. A parting smile told each other all they needed to know.

 

     I’ll love you again next time.

 

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1750, France

 

    The hot sun beat down outside, but the handsome brunette boy didn’t mind it. He rode inside a covered chariot with his mother to Versailles. Still, he couldn’t help but stare past the curtains, out the window. The boy wanted badly to jump out and run barefoot through the green fields.

 

    “Dawon, sit straight and away from the window. You will get freckles.” His mother’s brittle voice reminded him of his place as a noble. Noblemen do not run anywhere. ESPECIALLY not barefoot.

 

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    Nearby in a field walked a blonde peasant boy. Sheep trailed behind him, bleating. But all he could do was gaze at a covered chariot passing by. He felt drawn to the chariot, as though tugged by fate.

 

     A soft felt nose nuzzled at his hand, the sheep silently calling his name. Youngbin! Youngbin! He bent his head to check on his flock. He just missed Dawon peering out.

 

     Youngbin raised his head, just as Dawon caught sight of him. Their eyes met and neither could break away.

 

I would know those eyes anywhere.

 

     Dawon didn’t know when exactly he had reached out to the lone boy, but he found himself dangling his hand out the window.

 

I remember you. I always knew I would find you again, my love.

 

     His mother’s angry words faded into background noise as he watched the boy getting farther and farther away, knowing he would never see him again.

 

Find me again, love. I’ll wait for you forever.

 

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1812, ia

 

Snow covered the ground in heaps. Wind whipped at the tattered soldier’s skin, bitterly cold and icy. Still he marched on, head down, arms across chest.

 

Blood soaked his shirt, drying and freezing in the frosty air. Still more blood seeped from his many wounds. Maybe it was the fog that surrounded him. Maybe it was his blood loss. But his ears were deafened. His eyesight grew hazy, as he limped and stumbled his way through the thick snow.

 

The red-haired soldier didn’t know how long he had been walking for - how many hours, days? Suddenly, without a single warning, he was tripping, falling to his knees, then on his face. Laying there in the cold, he realized he had discovered a tree’s roots. He also realized that he couldn’t get up. Although he tried, his legs had given out. The exhausted young man laid his head down and gave himself up, preparing to die and be buried in the ice.

 

Closing his eyes, he remembered a single word. A name. The image of which never left his mind. Haunted him wherever he went.

 

A light touch brushed his cheek, almost too light to be real. The soldier opened his bleary eyes and gazed upon what could only be an angel, his fingertips barely skimming his cheek. He choked out a breath. It was him.

 

Inseong smiled sadly down at him, caressing his skin, eyes never leaving his. He held him as he gasped out words he didn’t understand. Inseong held Youngbin as Youngbin held him. He held him as his eyes became vacant. Inseong held Youngbin as he lost him again.

 

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1890, North Carolina

 

    An elderly man ambled slowly down the worn path. His shaky hand brushed over the dark leaves of the shrubs lining the walk, skimmed over the delicate flowers. This was his life’s work, having chosen his gardens over love. Maybe he had hoped that, just possibly, his lost heart would come knocking.

 

    The man continued walking, trudging through knee-high grass and mud drying after the previous night’s rain. In his hands, he carried some of his favorite flowers, picked as he walked. A light breeze whistled past his ear, carrying with it the sweet perfume of wildflowers.

 

    The old man paused and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to reach back. Back into the depths of his memory, reaching much farther than it should. Through past lives, births and deaths, the old man remembered that familiar scent.

 

    With a sentimental air, the old man let the wind direct him, lead him down a new path. His thoughts swarmed with shadowy, forgotten memories; images he remembered, but couldn’t remember.

 

    The old man found himself outside an old cemetery, its walls scraggly and falling apart, covered with damp moss. Inside, the gravesites were overgrown with brambles and ivy, leaving their occupants a mystery. But one grave sat apart from the rest, a heap of dirt free from vegetation.

 

    The wind seemed to nudge the old man toward the new grave, the nearby tree branches seemingly beckoning. The old man did as he was bidden, placing his feet carefully as he stepped. The man knelt in front of the grave and brushed it off, sweeping away the dirt.

 

Baek Juho.

 

    A familiar scent surrounded him, as he gazed at the portrait etched into the stone. A face he knew without ever meeting. A face he never forgot without ever remembering. Juho. His lost heart who never came knocking.

 

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1980, California

 

    “YOUNGBIN. JAMES. BRING THE DISHES OUT.” A slim man with shaggy snow-white hair wavered by the door, tightening the ties of his pristine waiter’s suit. With his coworkers, he rushed about, setting the buffet tables and spreading cloths over the tables. The newly-married couple would be here soon, and everything needed to be perfect.

 

    Still, Youngbin couldn’t get rid of the odd sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong with this wedding, and he had no idea what it was. He brushed his hand through his white hair for the nth time that day, pale blue eyes jumping about sporadically.

 

    Brushing down the final tablecloth, Youngbin rushed full speed back to the kitchens, almost mowing down poor James. His instinct told him to hide while the wedding guests entered the dining hall. But he could only hide for so long.

 

    “YOUNGBIN. GO OUT THERE AND SERVE. IT’S IN YOUR JOB DESCRIPTION.” Youngbin sighed before slinking out to obey his (very loud) manager. The first few minutes passed alright, serving drinks and removing dishes from the tables. At least, it was alright until Youngbin spotted the groom. All he could do was stop and stare in muted shock. The now-understood sinking feeling had reached his polished black shoes.

 

    Candy floss pink hair. Familiar hazel eyes. A soul he knew so well. Given away to someone else.

 

I promised I’d see you again one day, but I lost you before I found you.

 

    The groom’s eyes landed on the gaping waiter. Youngbin waited in anticipation for recognition to cross his pretty face, waited for him to show any sign that he knew him. He waited in vain. He only looked confused.

 

All these years, I’ve waited for you. So many lives I’ve passed in and out of. You’ve forgotten me just when I thought you were Within Reach.