I met another reincarnated today. He did not know it. His eyes held the weight of old instincts, but no awareness.
He spoke of dreams filled with flame, of hands moving before thought. He feared them.
I did not tell him. What would it serve? He cannot remember, and I am not his teacher.
Still, I recorded him. His patterns. His speech. His fear. One day, perhaps, he will find this entry — or become it.