that love is just a spark that starts in your heart,
and ends in your head
She met someone here before, she thinks. The certainty grows with every minute - it was a cold, clear night just like this one; dreamy and unreal just as she is.
It feels weird to see him there - just as he did before. Exactly like she remembers; coming up to her with enthusiasm, happiness, and she can’t help but break a smile. She doesn’t remember his name, but the way he says hers, she almost goes teary - there is so much truth and sincerity in the sound, there is no doubt in her that indeed, that must be her name. ”Ilma,” she repeats to herself softly, still processing the definitivity of accepting her name when he closes in for a hug. She doesn’t hug back immediately, more like she lets herself be hugged; shocked into the warmth of his touch and the strange feeling that she’s done this before, but doesn’t seem to remember his smell or touch when he hugs her.
”I know you,” she asks more than claims, searching his blue gaze, looking for recognition. ”We’ve done this before?” That is even more of a question, but one she thinks the answer will also be yes.
Some visions come rushing in; of walking together along the river, of a jungle and a volcano in the distance; of a mare he introduces as his sister, and her mate - women who seem to know her better than she does herself. The visions come with little sound, but she recognizes her own name in it once or twice, all uttered by those she apparently knew, or knows - the white mare feels unsure and insecure by these flashbacks, but she holds herself together - just about - as her amber eyes search the male’s blue orbs desperately. Her visions confirm that she knows him, but they are odd.
Why don’t her memories come with names, with scent, with touch?
and gets caught in your throat
@[Svedka]
So what she thinks are memories and flashbacks are visions of the possible future, to complicate things (:.