traveling

I toss and turn, watching the clock tick away its existence, green pulsing light washing the wall in colour, then dousing it. Appearing, disappearing. Painting, erasing.

My heart beats alongside it, sometimes matching the rate, sometimes speeding past, depending on the images and sounds that occupies my mind. The slow processing of conversations throughout the day. The smile of a friend. An echoed laughter, dream-like in quality. Then the biting fear, the heartache, the pain that does not lag far behind.

I am here, and then I am not. A second later, I return.



Time-traveling is not as hard as it may seem. It is actually very easy, but not nearly as interesting as you may think.

Rolling over, I can see my own shadow on the wall, and I wonder where everything has gone.