Chapter Seven - Kaitlyn
2050
Some days I would completely zone out on the way to school; drowning in the sounds of nature and conjuring up images in my head of what my past could possibly have been like.
A common daydream was of me as a young girl, wearing a summer dress and white knee-high socks. I would skip along the path on the way to school with my mother. She was younger, so her skin was flawless whereas now it is marked with a few wrinkles. I must have been about eight and I would splash through puddles until my mother warned me to stop but I would be able to make out the love and warmth in her eyes as she did so.
I can still picture the vividly coloured flowers and the rosiness of my mother's cheeks. I can still hear the buzz of the bees and the gentle tapping of our footsteps.
But that was just a reoccuring daydream. It wasn't reality, it wasn't a memory. And my deepest fear was that I would never be able to remember.
That Wednesday morning, however, was different. I did not daydream; for my mind was preoccupied with other thoughts.
My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of those gorgeous, grey-green eyes that were coated with a dark curtain of thick lashes.
My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of that abundance of brunette curls.
My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of that confident demeanor.
My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of him- the new guy who walked into my English class the day before and had taken over my mind all night. I couldn't sleep that night. I needed to figure out how I knew him.
I could picture him in as much detail as I would have been able to if I had studied his face every day for my entire life.
"I must have met him before. There is no way that I would feel so strong a feeling of recognition if I haven't." I decided.
Then it hit me.
I must have met him before the accident.
I must have known him in my long, lost past.
The question is: why did I get a sense of familiarity the moment I glimpsed his face, yet had no clue who my parents were after awakening from my three week coma?
I felt as if I knew him more than my own parents; and the pathetic thing was, I didn't even know his name.
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