Eternal

You loved someone once, you think. What was his name? It was something nice. You remember how it felt to say? It rolled off your tongue in a pleasant sort of way. You tried to form the words with your lips, but something is strange. You can't make the shapes you remember. Your mouth doesn't move the same way. What were you thinking about? Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. Maybe you are hungry, though you're not really sure what hunger feels like. You get these sometimes, flashes of concepts that upon closer inspection must be alien to you. Your mind seems to lose them as quickly as it picks them up. It's easier not to think. It's easier to feel your body, long, thin, serpentine, cutting through the air in its predestined path, never varying, never changing. Eternal. That's what you are. You remember a woman. Her voice was soft and she smelled like honey and herbs. Was she the one you loved? No. You loved her, but she was someone else. She was taken from you. You think you remember pain. You don't know what it feels like anymore, but you know you felt it once. Water collects in your eyes. You don't really know why. You blink it away. You remember a man. He was good and he was strong. He protected you. You think? Is he the reason you're here? You can't remember. A word comes to you. Something you don't know the meaning of. Family. You're sure it means something, something important, but it is lost to you as soon as you think it. You blink more water away from your eyes. You feel something on your back. It's small, and you think little of it. The something lingers for a while and then leaves. It comes back a while later. You aren't sure how long. You don't think of time the way you once did anymore. This time, it comes further down your back. It moves slowly. You think about shifting your weight to throw it off, but this is a deviation from your routine. You remain still, but something stops just between your antlas, and you can sense it hesitating. It steps out onto the bridge of your nose. Here, you can feel it more acutely. It has two feet closed in leather, which it presses into the soft skin of your face. It touches the sword sticking out of your head. A sharp wave of pain runs through your body and you growl in warning. It shrinks away from the blade. The second it recedes, both the pain and the sword are lost to you again. You can't remember why you growled. The something sits down on your forehead in between your antlers. You can feel the rough canvas of its pants and the softer fabric of its tunic. Although you can't see it, you're certain it's blue. A pretty shade of blue. You remember how the tunic felt in your hands as you wo it. You're glad he found it. The something presses its face and hands into your temple. It says something too quietly for you to hear. You feel water on its face. You wonder where it came from. You don't understand why, but you feel a strange pang in your chest. Another word comes to you. A word you have no meaning for. Heart. Your eyes are collecting water again. You blink it away. The something comes back several more times. Each time you forget it as soon as it leaves. Sometimes it talks to you, whispering things in your ears. What it says seems familiar to you somehow, but you can't remember it. One day, it reaches for the sword in your head again. You cry out and buck in pain, but the something holds fast and doesn't let go. It's strong. He was always so strong. You can see him somehow, even though you shouldn't be able to, even though your eyes are too far apart and squeezed shut in pain. It's as though the sword is connecting the two of you, channeling its energy straight into your brain. You remember his name, Link. He pulls the sword out of your head and for an instant, everything is crystal clear again. You remember him. You remember his courage, his strength, his quiet, calm conviction. You remember the way he looked at you, the way he held you. You remember calling his name, your one sliver of hope after a hundred years of darkness. You remember. You remember. You You blink more water from your eyes. It seems to be collecting there quite often these days. You wonder why. There is something on your head. Two leather boots planted just above your nose. Strangely enough, a word comes to you. Link. And this time, it doesn't fade. Link comes back sometimes. Link is your name for that something. You're not sure where the name came from, but it feels right. And for some reason, you can't seem to forget it. Link sits on your nose and strokes your hair. Sometimes it lays against you and presses its face into yours. Sometimes it whispers things to you that almost make sense in some long buried part of your mind. You forget it all when it leaves, but you always remember the name Link. One day, Link comes to you and it strokes your hair and it leans over towards your ear. I'm going to end it. It says, "I'll make sure he can't hurt anyone else ever again. I promise. I love you, Zelda." Zelda, that means something too, you think. But your mind can't hold on to it. It disappears as soon as Link says it, and you are left to turn over in your mind the feeling of a word you can't remember. Link leaves, and you forget him, too. Except for the name. Your mind clings stubbornly to that name. You wish you could understand why. Something shifts in the distance. You feel it more than you see it. You turn your head in the direction of the change. And you see something falling through the sky. It's blue. A pretty shade of blue. You remember how that tunic felt in your hands as you wo it. You're glad he found it. Link. Oh, thinking is hard. Remembering is hard. There is pain and confusion. and nothing lines up as it should in your head. Arranging your thoughts is like arranging dominoes too close together. You keep knocking one over accidentally and then the whole line comes tumbling down. But you don't have to think this time. You know, and your body moves. You deviate from your path. You break your eternal loop and you catch him as he falls. You loved someone once. His name is Link. You love him still.