I just realized I believe in past lives

Sometimes when I'm reading in bed, I'll extend my right hand out, reaching for another hand I'm always subconsciously sure will be there. When it's not, I have a reality check. "Oh right, there's no hand there." There never has been. There's never been anyone in my life with whom I would lie beside, holding hands as we, Mystery Hand and I, read our separate ...separate what? Separate novels? That's what I read but maybe Mystery Hand's Owner's other hand held the day's paper? I'm unsure whose hand it is exactly that I reach for, so a reading preference is somewhat difficult to determine. What I can determine is that when it happened tonight, I finally decided it's not just a tiny neurotic quirk I partake in often. I decided that it must be a habit left over from a past life where I'd fallen into a habit of holding hands with someone while lying down and quietly reading. I must have loved this small gesture so much that my soul clung to the habit, always hopeful Mystery Hand's Owner will be there even after living such a different life as is mine. I must have loved this person very deeply and was, in return, loved incredibly much as well.
It's so much more beautiful of a thought than merely accepting that perhaps I am crazy. Crazy, sad, and lonely, but at least creative.