There was one I would never forget, it was me helping a little boy walk again, telling him it was all going to be alright, reassuring him how beauty could spring forth from the ugliest of things. But I never remembered holding this little boy's hand. Last I remembered, the little boy was the grown man in prison. Yes I met him once or twice, his parents attended our church but I only scolded him for being 'such a naughty boy'. In the story I saw I helped him when he was a little boy, I helped him see things better and he became a leader, a warrior of sort tearing down the dark kingdom'.
We were still walking when I stopped and turned to my guide asking her for the umpteenth time 'Is this my life?' 'Yes it is' she responded with a smile again. 'But if you do not recognise it' she quickly added 'maybe this was what it was meant to be'