Memories
The blonde girl doesn't forget. She can stand there, performing the stories she's written, acting like the past is past, but it's not. She doesn't forget.
The memories come and go. A flash of icy blue eyes, a sweep of dark hair across a shoulder, a tanned, muscled stomach. She can tell herself that she's forgotten, that she's alright now, that the memories don't bring tears to her eyes. But she's lying to herself.
And she likes it. She doesn't want to forget. Every story she tells, every piece she performs, every scroll she fills, all serve as reminders of her past. Her tall, dark, beautiful past. And she likes it that way.
Because when the people we love the most leave us, we only have our memories. We have to recreate the flawless faces of our lovers, etch in every line, paint every curve, out of shadows. This isn't a hard task for the blonde girl – every time she closes her eyes, she sees nothing but the face. Her soul mates face. So strong and powerful, at times ferocious and furious. Sometimes, though, the face she sees is so caring, so loving, so tender that it melts the blonde girls heart, and she cries all over again. Once in a while, she is graced with her true love's face beaming, so full of life and joy, that anyone to witness such a smile would surely clap their hands and grin. Yet, it only serves to make her heart hurt more.
The blonde girl moves from town to town, stage to stage, performing her stories. She reminds the world of the heroics of the most amazing warrior to walk this Earth, even as she grows old, as lines fill her face and her hair greys. She travels, always alone, never staying more than a day before moving on.
Those that meet her would say she is searching for something. And, in a way, they are correct. Though it is doubtful she knows it, the blonde girl is indeed searching for the other half of her soul.
Most nights, she doesn't sleep. But when she does, she dreams. She dreams of an earlier time, a better time, when she lay in another's arms, and all was right with the world. And every time she awakens, rediscovers the horror of her reality, she is struck once more with the sheer unfairness of it all.
So, if the blonde bard should happen to pass through your village one day, watch her carefully. Study her, and you tell me: Is she searching for something?
No, the blonde girl doesn't forget.