It feels like any other time travel.
You get back on your feet. Feel your limbs get back to work, your body warming up and wonder where you are. And where your clothes are.
And then, you feel the rush of cold wind greet your face. You clasp both your arms because the cold is too much. A tear traces it's way to your cheek down to the side of your lips. Your eyesight clouded. The more fear you feel.
`Where am I?` is the least you could spare your intellect. A question would be the most logical and only thing you could think of right now. You just have to accept it. You're lost. Somehow.
`How did I get here?` more questions.
The saddest part of traveling through time is that you never know where you might end up, or how did you end up being there. It's a fascination with people like me how you cope up with being random. Then it hits me.
I examine my nakedness and try to give a guesstimate of where in time I've been hurled to. Scars, facial hair, eye bags, penis size. I'm somewhere in my mid-thirties. I haven't had the knee scar yet.
I spread my arms, lifting my face up in the cloudless afternoon sky and feel the energy of youth. I am young again.
And I am restless again.
The thoughts came rushing in as the continual cold scamper through my skin getting in, longing for my insides, longing to infect it with the cold.
I am young.
I am restless.
I am energetic.
I am cold.
I am lost.
Then as if time strips me of wisdom, that I acquired through those excruciating hurdles of life, I don't know what I want. I am still standing here in the middle of nowhere, mosquitoes feasting on my blood. I am still standing here but I cannot find myself anymore.
Again.
I thought it was just my stomach complaining. A grumble in the middle of this juvenile flexible body. Starvation. But no. As I instinctively clutched my center, the hole pulled me in, turning me inside out. Then I feel for the floor.
It feels like any other time travel.
You get back on your feet.
Feel your limbs get back to work, your body warming up and wonder where you are.
And where your clothes are.
You decided long ago not to keep track of time.
There is no right time anyway.
You get back on your feet. Feel your limbs get back to work, your body warming up and wonder where you are. And where your clothes are.
And then, you feel the rush of cold wind greet your face. You clasp both your arms because the cold is too much. A tear traces it's way to your cheek down to the side of your lips. Your eyesight clouded. The more fear you feel.
`Where am I?` is the least you could spare your intellect. A question would be the most logical and only thing you could think of right now. You just have to accept it. You're lost. Somehow.
`How did I get here?` more questions.
The saddest part of traveling through time is that you never know where you might end up, or how did you end up being there. It's a fascination with people like me how you cope up with being random. Then it hits me.
I examine my nakedness and try to give a guesstimate of where in time I've been hurled to. Scars, facial hair, eye bags, penis size. I'm somewhere in my mid-thirties. I haven't had the knee scar yet.
I spread my arms, lifting my face up in the cloudless afternoon sky and feel the energy of youth. I am young again.
And I am restless again.
The thoughts came rushing in as the continual cold scamper through my skin getting in, longing for my insides, longing to infect it with the cold.
I am young.
I am restless.
I am energetic.
I am cold.
I am lost.
Then as if time strips me of wisdom, that I acquired through those excruciating hurdles of life, I don't know what I want. I am still standing here in the middle of nowhere, mosquitoes feasting on my blood. I am still standing here but I cannot find myself anymore.
Again.
I thought it was just my stomach complaining. A grumble in the middle of this juvenile flexible body. Starvation. But no. As I instinctively clutched my center, the hole pulled me in, turning me inside out. Then I feel for the floor.
It feels like any other time travel.
You get back on your feet.
Feel your limbs get back to work, your body warming up and wonder where you are.
And where your clothes are.
You decided long ago not to keep track of time.
There is no right time anyway.
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