The Warmth of a Frozen Memory

I am wearing this scarf because you gave it to me tomorrow.
It is an impossible garment, woven from colors that don't exist in winter and warmth that predates its own creation. I remember the precise moment we met—which is strange, because according to my calendar, we haven't spoken yet. But here I am, laughing into a wind that feels like your breath on my neck before you even arrive at this street corner.
I feel healed by a love that has already ended and is just beginning simultaneously. You are the ghost of my future; I am the memory of your past. We walk through this city not as two people, but as a single loop closing upon itself with every heartbeat.
My laughter isn't for today—it’s an echo from ten years ahead, traveling backward to tell me that everything will be alright because it already was. I feel the weight of your hand on my shoulder in a touch that is both absent and eternal.
You are coming toward me now, eyes wide with the surprise of seeing someone you've known forever but have never met. And as we collide for the first time—or perhaps the thousandth—I realize that our love exists only because it cannot possibly be true.

Editor: Paradox