I took the book from his hand, paper falling out of it as I touched it.
There were pages and pages.
I couldn’t even imagine how many, at least a good chunk out of my notebook. There were symbols I couldn’t understand, letters I couldn’t name. I looked to Joel, his eyes rapt and calculating.
“What is this?”
His eyes seemed more world-weary than usual, but the hint of laughter had crept back into them. “Memories, Ash. Memories of all the things we’ve done together. You wrote them.”
I just stared at him. “There’s no way I wrote these. I don’t even know what they say.”
“You might not, but your soul does. I taught the Tongues to Juliana once, and that’s what these are written in.”
How can you write something in a language that you didn’t even know you knew, and then be writing about things you don’t even remember experiencing? I wondered, studying the papers.
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