The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don't love me back. The next time you are brunette, and you do. After a while I give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means anything, because even when you don't exist, I'm always in love with you. I remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together, when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me. I love how you play along with my bad ideas, before you grow up and realize they're bad ideas. (And in our times together I have many many bad ideas.) When we meet as adults you're always much more discerning. I don't blame you. Yet, always, you forgive me. As if you understand what's going on, and you're making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist, and the ones where we just, barely, never meet. I hate those. I refer the ones in which you kill me. But when all's said and done, I'd rather surrender to you in other ways. Even though, each time, I know I'll see you again, I always wonder is this the last time? Is that really you? And what if you're already perfectly happy without me? Ah, but I don't blame you; I'll never burn as brilliantly as you. It's only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes until I find the one where you'll return to me.

-Tongari


The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don't love me back.

I stare at the fiery woman dancing with her sister. The blonde doesn't realize it, but I have been in love with her since the beginning. Ever since I met the elder sister, my heart has not been completely my own. But Yang will never love me back. Her focus is on her sister and boys and becoming the best huntress. I sigh and smile wistfully to myself. Even if the girl doesn't love me, I will still be by her side and that is enough.

The next time you are brunette, and you do.

She said yes. The dark haired girl had said yes. She doesn't recognize me but I recognize her. I've loved her before and will love her always. I look the same but she looks different. She has short brown hair and kind brown eyes. She's shorter than me this time but I know it's her. I'd recognize Yang anywhere, though she doesn't wear that name anymore. And though she looks different, seems different, I know that inside her resides the soul of the one I love, and that is enough.

After a while I give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means anything, because even when you don't exist, I'm always in love with you.

She has red hair the next time. Blue after that. At one time she wore a wig to hide the cancerous cells that ate at her life. I've been lucky enough to meet her ten times now. Each time I look the same, each time she looks different, each time I can see Yang's soul staring back at me. Sometimes she loves me, sometimes she doesn't. But knowing that I can see her time and time again, that is enough.

I remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together, when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me.

This time she is my childhood friend. I recognize her instantly as we ride our bikes through the streets. Stopping at the same stop sign, she grinns a grin that only a small child can. It melts my heart all over again and I fall for her once more. She shows me the small clearing in the woods, where the water of the brook tumbles and cascades in a natural melody that harmonizes with the chirping birds and buzzing cicadas. She shows me the shady spot underneath the jungle gym where we play during recess. As time passes, we grow together and are inseparable. She falls in love with a kind artist who paints her so beautifully my heart breaks. But she is happy and smiling and that is enough.

I love how you play along with my bad ideas, before you grow up and realize they're bad ideas.

This time we are foster sisters and I decide to mix things up. I decide to play the part of juvenile delinquent. She laughs and plays along. And I am right, the neighbor's house looks much better with two dozen eggs splattered over the peeling olive green paint. We run off together and kiss under the starlight. I like this life because our love feels so unbound. But eventually she realizes how foolish I am and runs off with another girl. My heart breaks but I know that this life has treated me well. She is happy and as I swallow the pills and wish for better luck next time, knowing she is smiling now is enough.

(And in our times together I have many many bad ideas.)

This next life passes normally. We meet as children and I steal her first kiss. We get a group of friends together and in a daring bid to impress her, I decide to drive 90 in a 40. I don't see the car coming and we hit it head on. She's killed on impact and I spend months recovering. This life is one of the worst and as much as I wish to end it, I keep living for you. I meet a nice man and settle down, if only to pass the time until our next meeting. I have a daughter and she looks like Yang. Fiery blonde hair and bright lilac eyes. I smile and pass away peacefully after her fiftieth birthday. I never forgave myself for what I did to my love but raising a family made me happy and that is enough.

When we meet as adults you're always much more discerning. I don't blame you. Yet, always, you forgive me.

This time it was nearly thirty years before I finally found her again. She is blonde again with short messy locks that just beg for my fingers to be run through. She smiles at me with a twinkle in her eye and I think for a moment, just a moment, that she has remembered me. We grow close fast and this life lasts a long time. Her last words to me echo deep in my soul. 'I'll see you next time around, Blake.' It is enough.

As if you understand what's going on, and you're making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist, and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.

The next lifetime I spend searching but to no avail. She doesn't exist. I worry that I will never find her again, I spend the next ten lives searching and each time I realize that she was the girl on the subway, speeding by. Or she was the little girl on the swingset, not quite grown up, or she was the waitress at the restaurant that I never quite got around to visiting. But the next life we meet again and she almost seems to recognize me again. We grow old and this time I pass away first. I hope that next time it doesn't take so long to find her. I smile and even one life out of ten is enough.

I hate those. I refer the ones in which you kill me.

This life I'm a CIA agent and she's a terrorist. I know it's her and I can't help but fall in love with her strength. Even as an enemy, she is determined and proud. I corner her in the backstreets of a third world country. Her network is gone and she's alone. I confess everything, tell her about our lives together and the lives spent searching. I tell her how much I love her. She almost understands before the bullet pierces her brain. The CIA never was able to explain how their top agent's most brilliant success drove her to suicide. The next life, our roles are reversed. She is a cop and I was born into a mafia family. She infiltrates the compound and the police slaughter my entire family. She puts the bullets in me personally and I smile, knowing that at least I got to see her that time. I hope next time we don't have to kill each other. In the next life, we're both cops and we're killed in a car bombing. I lie bleeding out, trapped under the wreckage of our cruiser. Her head is leaning against mine, her arms around me tight. Her lower half is lost somewhere in the flames. We die at the same time but not before I hear her whisper 'I love you, Blake.' It is enough.

But when all's said and done, I'd rather surrender to you in other ways.

My favorite life is the one where we meet in highschool. We fall in love fast and hard and we get married earlier. I remember the violent past lives and the botched attempts of before and I give myself to her wholly and instantly. We spend a long and happy life together and I cherish every touch of skin, every kiss, every long love-making session. This life was worth the pain and suffering that came before and it is more than enough.

Even though, each time, I know I'll see you again, I always wonder is this the last time? Is that really you? And what if you're already perfectly happy without me?

The next life I don't even have a chance. She's fallen in love with another dark haired girl and I watch from the side as she lives a full happy life with her. The next life I wait and wait and finally I think I recognize her, but it wasn't her and I die young and alone in a car crash. The next time I see her, I hesitate, and in an instant she's gone and I spend that life hating myself anew. The life that comes next I pick up a magazine and she's on the cover as a famous singer. The article says she's married with two kids and couldn't be happier. I am happy for her. It's been a while since we've lived a long life together and I wonder if it's the end. It can't be though, not yet. As this life comes to a close, I eagerly await our next meeting and it is enough.

Ah, but I don't blame you; I'll never burn as brilliantly as you. It's only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes until I find the one where you'll return to me.

After a while, the memory of Yang begins to blur together with every incarnation I've met. She is no longer the girl I first met at Beacon all those lifetimes ago. She is a brilliant soul that I can only hope to shadow. She blazes throughout time and space, across dimensions and universes and realities. She is an Arthurian knight, a mad scientist, a generous billionaire, a humble physician, a serial killer, a president, a teacher, a housewife. She lives such brilliant and unique lives and I realize that in all of her brilliance, I am but a shadow. It's only right that I be the one to follow her. And as long as I know who I am and as long as I know that she's the Yang I fell in love with those thousands and thousands of lifetimes ago, I will continue to shadow her and love her with all of my soul. And until I find the lifetime where we get everything right, the lifetime where she finds me first, the lifetime where she recognizes her partner Blake, until that time, I will follow her across all of existence. And it is enough.


Author's Note: I am not entirely sure as to the true origins of the original poem, but it has been beautifully haunting me for several days after I saw a RWBY image set on Tumblr that used it. I couldn't resist writing this afterwords. It's...different from my routine but after I crafted it, I wanted to share it was you all. I hope you enjoyed it and I hope that it inspires you like it inspired me.

Link to the image set: post/96874469367/bumblebee-25-lives