The first century had been the hardest. The physical ache in his chest that just wouldn't go away. The emptiness and the inability to forget, oh how he had wanted to. To pretend that nothing had ever happened, that they had never met. Things would have been less painful that way.
The second century was empty. Though the constant pain had faded away, so it seemed had everything else. The colours seemed less bright, it was like looking at the world through a frosted window. He had become a shadow acting out the role of his previous life, not caring about where the world would take him next. He felt nothing, not joy, nor anger, or even sadness, just empty. A crushing emptiness that couldn't be filled.
The third century was better; he wasn't sure when but at some point he had started to feel again. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, he began to put back together the pieces of his life. To move on. It was at this point that he realised it was a good thing that he hadn't been able to forget. Though remembering was painful, if he forgot then it would be like as if that smile and those precious moments never existed. Like that person never existed.
It was somewhere around this point when what he believed to be impossible happened…