milkcha (ixxviii)

Desmond? I heard your name once before Desmond, a long time ago. And now it lingers in my mind like an image from an old dream. I do not know where you are, or by what means you can hear me. But I know you are listening. I have lived my life as best I could, not knowing its purpose, but drawn forward like a moth to a distant moon. And here, at last, I discover a strange truth. That I am only a conduit for a message that eludes my understanding. Who are we, who have been so blessed to share our stories like this? To speak across centuries? Maybe you will answer all the questions I have asked. Maybe you will be the one to make all this suffering worth something in the end.