It cannot be

There is a place in time shared, yours and mine
A body existent in the first, a memory that lags behind
Is it real or a construct of my simple mind?
Old soul is the term
Oft describing my nature
If it's true then what of my maker?
For it cannot be
That time has set me free
Reliving a relief that allows me to be
Remembering he who was me
While attending to be